


Forget me not

by icantsumupmyfandomsinonename



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Anterograde Amnesia, Depression, Fluff, Gen, Hangover, I can't get over how much angst there is here, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of Suicide Attempts, Post Reichenbach, So much angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, also i probably should mention that the actual portrayed suicide attempt doesn't come 'till later, drunk!John, hangover!john, portrayal of suicide attempt, so hang in there, sort of, there is fluff now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantsumupmyfandomsinonename/pseuds/icantsumupmyfandomsinonename
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock jumped in July of 2012, John forced himself to keep going on without him, but on the anniversary of his death finally gave in and tried to kill himself. Turns out Sherlock wasn't quite dead. This is the aftermath of John's suicide attempt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Texting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is an RP that I'm polishing up into one perspective (even though there will be parts of Sherlock's perspective.) It's still a WIP at this point, so I'm posting this in chapters.
> 
> ((Also, the texting is only an intro. There's actual action in the rest of the chapters))

I need help. I saw him - JW

Saw whom? -SH

... -JW  
So this is a game, then? -JW  
Who is this? -JW

What are you talking about? -SH  
...Oh... You forgot again? -SH

Forgot what? -JW  
Whoever you are, this isn't funny -JW

That I came back, John. -SH  
It's me, John, Sherlock. -SH

You can't be him, he's dead... -JW  
And what do you mean "forgot again"? -JW  
What the hell is going on? -JW

I came back half a year ago. -SH  
I faked my death. -SH  
But you forget that over and over again. -SH

Shit, this isn't funny. -JW  
If you're being serious, prove it -JW  
How on earth would I forget Sherlock coming back? -JW  
I really did go mad, didn't I? -JW

You tried to kill yourself, John. Your brain was several minutes without oxygen. I found you in the flat, when I came back, when I wanted to reveal myself. -SH  
This is the seventh time you forgot me. -SH  
Are you at home? -SH

... -JW  
Yes. -JW  
I don't know what's going on... -JW

Calm down, take deep breaths, okay? Don't panic. Sit down and take deep breaths. -SH  
I am on my way home. -SH

I'm waiting. -JW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual actions show up in the next chappie


	2. Sherlock is Alive. Again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations and tea with a long-dead friend.

John ran his hands over his face, breathing shakily. This wasn't possible. It was completely mad. He felt a knot in his throat, and he shook his head quickly, trying to clear it. He rolled his mobile between his palms and sat down in his chair slowly, glancing down at it as he felt it vibrate.

Just got out of the tube station. -SH

John took a deep breath and rubbed his face, trying to figure out exactly  _what_  was going on. He heard the door open, and he stood up. He turned around slowly, holding his breath. When he saw who it was by the door, he let out his breath in a whoosh, with a small moan. "That's... not possible." Everything spun.

"John, please calm down." Said the familiar voice, and all of a sudden Sherlock was rushing towards him. "Sit down and take deep breaths. Just... don't panic, now, okay?"

John let out a manic chuckle as he hyperventilated. His legs gave out and he fell back down to the chair. "You're not real..." He took a deep breath, his throat tight, and reached out for Sherlock. "You  _can't_  be real..." John grabbed at the air as he realized that Sherlock had rushed away, and his stomach sank. He didn't know what the hell was going on... Before he fully processed that he had left it, Sherlock was back at his side, holding a paper bag out to him.

"Here, breath into the bag," the detective said softly. "Please, just calm down, please, calm down, John. I came back half a year ago. We had this conversation already."

 John took the bag from the other man, and put it to his mouth, forcing his breathing to slow, concentrating on the bag. When he regulated his breathing to a normal rate, he lowered it slowly. "That's not possible! I can't..." He bit his lip and ran his hand through his hair. "I can't believe I would forget such a thing..." He looked at the other man intensely. "What else have I forgotten?" He let out a shaky breath, his eyes stinging slightly.

Sherlock sat down on the ground near John, facing him, and the doctor had the feeling he was watching to make sure he wouldn't have another panic attack. "If you don't believe me, if you need more proof, look on your phone. There are messages and pictures."

John pulled his phone from his pocket, opening up his text log. After a few moments, he looked back up at Sherlock. "This... is real?" He swallowed roughly. "And we-?"

Sherlock stared at the ground and sighed. "Yes, this is real. And yes, we are. Look at your photos."

John opened his photo album in the phone, and flipped through his pictures, making odd faces in reaction to some of them, smiling at some others. "You..." He sighed and lifted his hands to his face. "Why do you put up with me?" He looked up at the other slowly with a shaky smile. "And what made you decide that things should be different?" He tilted his head. "Or was it my idea?" He hated that he didn't know what was going on, but a warmth spread through his body as he realized what this meant... Sherlock was back... and he was staying. If he stayed through six months of living with an anterograde amnesiac... "I'm sorry I don't remember..."

"It was your idea. When I came back, I found you almost dead, I brought you into a hospital. When you first woke up, you just stood up and punched me, immediately kissing me after. We had a very kitschy moment and talked about our feelings." Sherlock looked up and smiled at the Doctor. "Why I put up with you? Because this is not too hard for me to deal with. Because I have you. And because this is nothing compared to the loss you had to endure. It's like payback." Sherlock shrugged and moved closer to John. "And well, because I love you."

John rubbed his hands together as Sherlock spoke, and some tears overflowed from his eyes. He sniffed, laughing slightly at his stupid crying, and rubbed his face roughly with his hands, getting rid of the wetness. "I'd do that, wouldn't I?" He chuckled. "I honestly would have punched you know, if not for the fact that apparently we've done all this before..." He reached for the other man's hand. "How many times has this happened?" He cleared his throat. "How many times did I forget you?"

Sherlock just moved closer to him, intertwining their fingers together and moved his head against John's knee. "This is the seventh time."

John sighed, rubbing his thumb against Sherlock's hand. "Christ, I'm sorry..." 

"Don't be. It's okay." Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, completely leaning against John's hand. "I'm used to this by now. Your last attack was six weeks ago, this was the longest time between two attacks. We already thought you were cured." Sherlock murmured as an answer.

John reached his other hand over, running his hand through Sherlock's curls absentmindedly. "Am I seeing a doctor for it?" He stopped briefly. "Come to think of it, am I still working?" He resumed playing with Sherlock's hair. "Do you like this, by the way? I don't know any of your likes and dislikes now... It's driving me mad."

"Yes, you are in treatment." He nodded and closed his eyes. "You are working now, yeah. You have gaps of memory that are missing, but you're able to work because you haven't lost any of your training." Sherlock sighed, looking up. "And yes, I like that very much, John."

John chewed the inside of his lip worriedly. "I probably should let my doctor know I had another episode?" He shifted in the chair slightly. "And maybe call in to work that I won't be there for a bit?" He rubbed the edge of Sherlock's ear absent-mindedly, as he gazed down at him. "Do they know?"

"I already called your doctor on my way home. We should see her tomorrow morning." Sherlock explained and looked up. "And yes, Sarah and everyone else knows about this, because you had an episode at work. I wanted to visit you and you... Well, you attacked me."

"Shit..." John chuckled sadly. "That must have looked kinda bad..." He bit his lip. "How did you explain that to her?"

"It was rather bad. Well, she stitched me up and asked. She  _is_  a Doctor, maybe not a specialist in amnesia, obviously, but she understood." He said softly, sounding like he had said this all before, which was quite likely.

John slowly pulled his hand away from the other man's. "I think I need a cuppa... D'you want one?" He asked, standing up slowly, making sure that Sherlock wasn't still leaning on his knee.

"I'd love a cuppa, thank you, John." Sherlock sighed and stood up slowly, following John into the kitchen. "Please just stay calm, okay?'

John smiled slightly. "That's what the tea is for, Sherlock... Keep me calm." He smirked. "Or is there some big secret about the tea that would shock me?" John teased, but then he stopped. "There isn't anything more, is there?" He pulled the kettle out of the familiar place and started filling it up with water.

"No, but I know you. Sometimes you freak out because you feel so guilty." Sherlock sat. "But It's amazing that you remember everything else. You know Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, you know the flat, you just don't know me." He looked down. 

John set the kettle down on the stove, heating it up. He reached around in the cabinet for the teacups, and placed them on the counter. He turned to face Sherlock as he waited for the water to boil. "It's not like I forgot you, though... I still remember everything about you... before you came back." He bit his lip. "I doubt if you were to move things around in the flat I'd know where they are. I know the flat because it's exactly the way it was before. I know Mrs Hudson because I knew her before... and I know _you_ , because I knew you before." He leaned back on the counter, folding his arms. "I just don't know  _us_."

"Yes, I know, I know." He nodded and leaned back on the chair just slightly. "It's just... It worked for six weeks. Six weeks you remembered everything, like I said we thought you were finally cured, but then today happened." Sherlock shrugged. "After I explained and you saw the pictures and everything, do you remember anything from that?"

John shook his head slowly. "I wish I did." He frowned. "I really,  _really_  wish I did." The kettle started whistling, and John quickly poured the water into the cups. "We looked so happy..." He reached into another cabinet for the tea bags, and couldn't find it. "The tea?" He turned to Sherlock questioningly. "Did you move it?"

"No, I didn't move anything. But maybe you did. Try the cupboard next to it."

John groped around in the second cabinet, and smiled triumphantly when he found the box. "Got it." He showed it to Sherlock before taking out two bags and placing them in the teacups. He reached into another cabinet and pulled out the sugar, spooning a bit into each cup. "What was it like, the first time?" John asked. "I'm sorry I'm asking so many questions," he turned to face Sherlock. "I just.. I feel like I need to know."

"It's okay... You should be asking questions. And besides, I'm used to it." Sherlock smiled back at John and sat in silence for several moments before continuing, "What do you mean? The first time you forgot?" He asked as he took the tea as John handed it to him took a slow sip.

John sat down next to Sherlock as he blew at his tea to cool it a bit. "Yeah, the first time I forgot... I mean, this time... It's already happened six times now, so you're used to it... But the first time...?" He bit his lip and swallowed roughly to clear the tightness in his throat. "Did I punch you again?" He smirked as he took a sip of his tea, slightly burning his tongue.

"You were still in the hospital. It was the the day after I came back. I stayed in your room, next to your bed, to keep an eye on you. You woke up the next morning and had a panic attack. You screamed, you punched me. You were in complete soldier mode, jumping me and screaming that I was just an hallucination." Sherlock swallowed. "In the end, it took three orderlies to take you off of me."

John let out a shaky breath, and took a sip of his tea. "God..." He lowered his head. "I just... That must have been awful." He took another drink from his tea, breathing in the sweet smell. "What..." He didn't know how to phrase his question, so he just went with whatever came to mind first, "How did I... wind up in the hospital?" He looked down briefly, and then into Sherlock's eyes. "What did I do?"

Sherlock took a drink from his tea and sighed heavily. "When I came home, here, I found you in my bedroom. You tried... tried to kill yourself. You swallowed sleeping pills with alcohol. When I came up here you had already stopped breathing. I performed CPR as best I could and called Mycroft to get you to the hospital."

John sat forward on his chair, leaning on his elbows as he took another sip, and nodded. "I remember thinking of different ways... Before I texted you, I was looking around for... Well, you know." He inclined his head slightly. "I was certain you were still gone..." He frowned as he played with a strange ring around his finger. "I was so sure of it..." He trailed off, looking at it curiously as he set his tea down.

"You mean... today? You were looking for something to... today?" Sherlock asked.

John barely processed what he said, taking a few moments before nodding absently. "It wasn't worth it, you know?" He squinted at the ring and shrugged. "I wasn't worth it to keep going on... In my mind, it was just two years of hell... I didn't remember any of the last six months." He took the ring off of his finger and examined it, trying his hardest to remember what it was supposed to be.

Sherlock sighed and took a deep breath. "Do you want to know what that is? Or do you want to try remember on your own?"

John furrowed his brow, trying to remember. "I don't..." He frowned. "I can't..." He sighed, and lowered his head into his hands, making a fist around the ring. "It's all blank. I feel so  _stupid_." He shook his head sharply. "I feel like an idiot... Nothing makes sense."

"It's not a wedding ring." Sherlock explained slowly before he moved his hand up onto the table and showed John his own ring. "It's an engagement ring. You asked me two months ago."

John lowered his hands from his face slowly and placed his ring on the table, looking at Sherlock's and his together. "Oh my God..." The room was beginning to spin a bit, and John took a deep breath. "This is a lot to take in..." He stood up from the chair quickly, a bit woozy. "I think I..." He trailed off. "I'm sorry, Sherlock... I just need a bit of..." He swallowed. "I need to think a bit." He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision of the spots that were forming in the corners.

"You need a bit of air, I know. It's like this every time." Sherlock sighed and lowered his head. "Usually you walk around and meet with Lestrade in your favorite pub to calm down."

John heard Sherlock's voice strain a bit, and he frowned, holding on to the chair for support. "I don't want to leave you... I just need to think." He bit his lip, not looking at the other man... His fiance. "I... It's just, I wanted you all those years from a distance, and I never thought you'd noticed... I didn't think there was a chance. And then you died, and now you're back, and all of a sudden we're-" He motioned towards his ring on the table, "-engaged, and I don't know..." He was breathing rapidly, starting to hyperventilate again, "I don't... know how to... react."

"I know, John. I know that this is quite a shock for you. And it's going to be a shock every time you forget about me again." He answered slowly. "We don't have to... You know?" His voice trailed off as he stood up and stepped closer to the doctor. "Take deep breaths, John. Try to calm down."

John shook his head roughly and took a few deep breaths, forcing his breathing to get back to normal. "I'm fine..." He shook his head. "I'll be fine." He raked his hands through his hair, and looked at Sherlock pleadingly. "I'm sorry you have to go through this again." He threw himself back down in the chair. "I'm sorry..." He shook his head and rolled his eyes at how he was sounding. "I'm a fucking idiot... I've been to war. Why is this so much harder?"

"PTSD." Sherlock said, watching John closely after he sat down. "You have a tendency to react like this. And it's nothing to be sorry about. At all." Sherlock said with a slow shrug and leaned back in his chair. "Maybe you should lay down and get some sleep."

John nodded quickly. "That might be best." He picked up his tea, now slightly colder, and took a long sip. "I don't want to forget again..." He said quietly. "I don't want to lose you again." His brow softened as he looked at the ring on the table, and he picked it up, examining it. After a few moments of silence, he tried it on, but found the feeling odd and slightly foreign. He pulled it off and put it back on the table, hoping he didn't offend Sherlock. He took another drink of his tea, and looked over to the other man. "How did I propose?"

John noticed Sherlock flinch a bit as John set down the ring, and when he spoke his voice was strained. "You tricked me into coming to Bart's, where we first met. The lab, you know? You cooked us dinner and it was like a picnic. Candles everywhere and a blanket on the floor. We ate and then you asked."

John smiled softly, his eyes watering. "That sounds pretty romantic." He took another drink from his tea, finishing it off. He stood up and took the teacup to the sink to rinse it out. He dried it with a dishcloth and put it back in its place in the closet.

"It was pretty romantic. I wasn't able to deduce anything, you even made me cry." Sherlock admitted with a soft blush, clearing his throat again. 

"I don't want you to think that I don't... I don't love you, Sherlock." He cleared his throat. "It's just... strange, coming into an old relationship like this. You know things about me in this respect, and I'm completely clueless." He leaned back on the counter. "I don't know what kind of a kisser you are, or... anything you like."

"I know that it's strange and I don't expect anything from you, John. I know about your feelings for me, because they are quite easy to see, quite easy to deduce, actually." Sherlock explained slowly. "Why don't you go to bed and sleep on it?"

John bit his lip slightly, listening to Sherlock speak, and nodded. "I'm working towards that." He smiled. I think I'm going to take a quick shower before-" He paused. "I take it that I don't sleep upstairs anymore?"

"Your bed is still up there, as are some of your clothes. We kept it this way, because you always sleep alone on the first night, after an episode, so everything's ready for you."

John nodded slowly and walked over to Sherlock, placing his hand on the other's face gently, feeling quite awkward. This was new to him. He was used to hiding his feelings for Sherlock, and now... he could show it. "Thank you." He swallowed and lowered his hand, stepping away from Sherlock slowly. He walked over to the bathroom and peered inside, looking for his bathrobe. When he saw that it was hanging on a hook, he closed the door behind himself and started showering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a whole lot more, but I'm taking a break from polishing it up... Another chapter should be up soon. Probably once a week or something.


	3. Pictures and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock speak over breakfast, and Sherlock gives John a gift... Which leads the doctor to accidentally mention something he had been hiding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I couldn't stay away... Another update in the same day.

A short while later, John stepped out of the bathroom wearing his bathrobe. He looked around the room anxiously, afraid that he wouldn't be able to find Sherlock, when his eyes fell on a figure on the couch. He stepped towards Sherlock slowly. John didn't want to leave the flat to go upstairs. He didn't want to leave Sherlock for fear of him disappearing, but he wasn't going to feel right sharing a bed with him just yet... He knew they must have slept together, but he didn't remember it... and it would feel _wrong_ to just do that now that he only just found out that Sherlock indeed liked him back, on his side of things, at least. "Will you wake me up before I need to go to the doctor?" He frowned. "You said it was a she? What's her name?"

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes, a dazed look on his face. John realized that he was probably just as shaken up by all this as he was. The detective sighed and sat up. "Her name is Mary Morstan. You found her through the clinic... She's a specialist in anterograde amnesia, apparently."

John ran his hand through his still-wet hair, and tilted his head. "Mary?" He squinted, working hard to remember. "I think..." He frowned and shook his head. "No... Nothing." He sighed.

"Maybe you just need to see her. It could trigger something, and besides, the two of you get along quite well." 

John nodded tightly. "I'm heading upstairs... I'll see you tomorrow?"

Sherlock lay back down, his voice soft. "Yes, see you tomorrow. Goodnight."

* * *

Sherlock stared at the door where John had been standing just several moments before. He took a deep breath and pressed his eyes shut. No, no, no, he wasn't going to cry.  _No_. He told himself, shaking his head and willing himself to stop. He should have known that John wasn't cured. He should have known that this would happen again. But hope was bad. Hope made him delusional. Hope made him forget his logic and so hope was Sherlock's weak spot. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, taking John's ring into his hand from the table and sighed as he walked into their - no...  _his_  - bedroom. Sherlock lay himself down on the bed and inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself down. He fidgeted with John's ring absently for a few minutes, before he moved it onto his nightstand.

He had tried so much. He had pictures everywhere in their flat. Of himself. Of John. Of them together. But it hadn't worked. John was forgetting him and Sherlock really didn't know how to survive this, the fight, the loss, the pain. 

* * *

John walked out of the flat and closed the door behind himself. He walked up the stairs and into his bedroom. It was exactly as he remembered it always being... The last six months didn't seem to have changed it much. He supposed that besides for still keeping the linen on, he would come in every once in a while to make sure it didn't get dusty. He changed into his pajamas and sat down on his bed slowly, thinking... The last thing he remembered... The last thing he remembered was deciding to end it. He remembered feeling so alone... so lost. He lay down in bed, thinking about the occurrences of earlier that day, when he was looking through the medicine cabinet for pills to take, he thought he had heard someone open the door, and when he had walked out to check on the sound, he had seen something in the corner of his eye. When he turned to see it, he saw Sherlock's body on the ground, and he remembered seeing so many times before. John sat up, running his hands over his face, forcing himself to breath. It was okay now... He had Sherlock back, and he wasn't going to forget him so fast... He hoped.

It was a long while before John drifted to sleep, and when he finally did sleep, his night was peppered with strange dreams. After a restless night, he woke up at 6 AM... A habit he hardly ever broke. He wondered if he woke up later than 6 the day Sherlock had brought him to the hospital... Those sleeping pills must have made him sleep longer. He shook his head angrily. He felt a strange emotion well up in his chest... It was hate. He hated the circumstances. He hated that he knew that eventually he was going to forget this all again, and he hated the fact that he knew that what Sherlock was going through was probably 10 times harder than what he was going through. He quickly dressed, and glanced out the window to check the weather and frowned when he saw that it was still dark. Well... apparently it wasn't summer anymore. He chuckled as he realized that even while 6 months passed in the relationship between himself and Sherlock, 6 months passed in the year as well. Noting that it was now winter, he pulled on a jumper before leaving his room to go downstairs.

John entered the flat slowly, looking around, half expecting any traces of Sherlock to be gone, and finding out that the previous night had been a dream. As he looked around, his eyes fell on picture frames that he hadn't noticed before... And pictures. Pictures of them together... John walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up one particular picture-frame, smiling at the picture within. It was the two of them by a tree. John smiled as he gazed at the picture, and made to replace the frame where he found it, when he felt a small piece of paper on the back. He turned it around and saw that there was a small post-it note stuck to the back with his handwriting on it. "Hanover Sq 15 Sept, 2013." There was another small scribble beneath it, and it took him a moment to decipher his own handwriting. "10 days without forgetting!" John smiled widely and replaced the frame where it was, and picked up the one that was next to it, which was just Sherlock in profile. He turned it around to see if there was a note, and found one; "In Bart's- concentrating on last bit to a case. He nearly hit the camera from my hand because of the flash, but admitted that the picture came out well and let me keep it."

"Browsing through our pictures?"

John jumped and turned to face Sherlock, holding the picture-frame tightly. "Good morning. Slept well?"

Sherlock crossed his arms in front of his chest and sighed. "Not a minute. And you?"

John frowned. "It took me a while, but I got some sleep... I've had better nights, though." He turned the picture-frame so that the back, and therefore the post-it was facing Sherlock. "Who's idea was this?"

"Mine." He answered quickly, walking over to him and looking at the note. "You forgot and smashed nearly all pictures because you thought you were imagining them. The notes somehow helped you to stay calm."

A small smile found its way to John's lips as Sherlock spoke. "It definitely helps..." He put the picture he was holding back on the mantelpiece. "It's not that I was going to smash them now, but it sort of... adds an extra layer of believability..." John tucked one hand into his back pocket as he rubbed the back of his neck, 

"Believability?" Sherlock repeated, his voice tight. "Do you think I'm lying to you? I'm not holding you hostage or anything like that." He said stiffly, turning his back.

"No no no no no..." John muttered quickly, stepping closer to Sherlock instinctively. "I didn't mean it like that... I'd never think-" he sighed. "I just meant that it's helping, that's all."

"You started to write a journal. Something like a diary. I'm not too sure where you have it right now, however."

John forced a small smile. He was definitely not as observant as Sherlock, but he could see that the other man was upset, and rightly so. He just didn't know what to do to change it. "I guess I'll look for it after breakfast." He started walking towards the kitchen. "I haven't started letting you cook, have I?" He remembered how Sherlock's cooking used to be, with accidental mixing of experiments, and he silently hoped that he didn't change his stance of "No Sherlock near the food pots" over the past 6 months.

Sherlock followed John into the kitchen. "I've cooked for you many times, and each time you said it was delicious." Sherlock sat down on one of the chairs, clearing his throat. "But are the better cook, that's for sure."

John smirked and bit his lip. "I'll bet..." He chuckled as he pulled out a pot and poked his head in the fridge, looking what supplies he had. "Is an omelette okay with you?" He turned to the other, still holding the fridge open. "Or would you rather something else?" He paused, and slowly closed the fridge behind himself. "Or... would you rather cook?" Supposedly he liked Sherlock's cooking now... he may as well offer to try it, for Sherlock's sake at least...

Sherlock just shook his head to all three questions. "I am not hungry." He stated, leaning back on his chair and watched. "And you don't know about my cooking. You're always worried that I might mix food up with experiments, even when I moved everything to 221C... But no, I don't want to cook today. You're not certain you'd want it."

John reopened the fridge and pulled out the eggs as he laughed. "Yeah, the experiments..." He started putting his breakfast together, breaking two eggs in a bowl, and mixing in spices. He poured the egg mix into the pan and pulled a cheese out of the fridge. "So tell me things... How's Lestrade? How did you tell him that you're alive?" He put some cheese on the omelette and covered the pan so it should melt, and turned to face Sherlock. "Did he punch you as well?"

"Well..." He shook his head, chuckling softly. "I pickpocketed him as a homeless person and got him to chase into an abandoned warehouse. I pulled off my costume to reveal myself, and yes, he punched me. Broke my nose actually. And then he hugged me like a long lost son."

John laughed softly as he uncovered the pan, and flipped the omelette in half. He slid the egg onto a plate, and placed it on the table next to Sherlock, and stepped back to the counter to get a fork and knife. "And Mrs. Hudson? How did she take it?"

Sherlock moved a bit to the side, clearly worried about crowding John. "She screamed and woke everyone up in London when I walked in." He smiled. "After that she chased me through her flat with a pan, apparently sure that ghosts are afriad of dish soap, or something. Once I explained everything, she scolded me like I was her grandchild."

John smiled. "I guess you have a bit of a bigger family than you thought."

Sherlock smiled at that, and John sat down to his plate, pulling it closer to himself. He started eating slowly, and his eyes drifted to where he had left his ring the night before, and frowned. "Did you...?" He jerked his chin towards the now-empty spot on the table.

"Yes, I took it away. It seemed to offend you, so I just took it away and stored it."

John took an extra large bite from the egg and put his fork down, thinking. When he swallowed, he turned his head to face Sherlock. "It didn't offend me... Not nearly. It just..." He paused. "It scared me." He looked down at his food. "It's just the reality of it all... The fact that I made such a big decision-and action- and that I forgot it."

"There is no need for you to explain yourself or justify yourself. Really. It's quite alright. You didn't want to wear it, so It's fine." Sherlock was obviously playing down the hurt he felt, and John didn't know how to fix it.

"So are you working on a case now? Or is it downtime?"

"Downtime." Sherlock quickly responded. "I've cut my time with cases because of your episodes. I don't take as many cases as before."

John's brow softened as he sighed. "I don't want you to have to change your life around me..." He frowned as he took another bite, now halfway done the egg. "I know how much you need your work, and I can't bear being the reason you aren't doing as much."

Sherlock shrugged and looked down. "You were mad st me for taking a case and not caring about you. I didn't want you to be mad, I wanted to be there. It's fine. I... I need you more than the cases." He said hesitantly.

John shook his head, upset at himself. "I'm sorry." He chuckled. "It seems like that's the only thing I'm able to say right now ."

"There's no need for you to apologize. Really, there isn't. I don't get bored as easily as before... Not with you." 

John took another bite as Sherlock spoke and motioned to the egg after he swallowed. "Are you sure you don't want to eat?"

The detective shook his head. "No, it's fine. Really."

John paused and put down his fork, turning in his chair to face Sherlock. "Do I make life that interesting?" He smiled slyly and bit his lip. "That you don't get bored now, I mean?" His smile eased up a bit as he said, "Or is it the condition that keeps the boredom away?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I had to live without you for so long. I know how it is to be without you. And even if you keep forgetting me over and over again, spending time with you is better. I just shut my mind down and ignore it."

John nodded slowly as he took another bite. "Do I still...?" He mimed typing to indicate the blog.

"Not about cases, no." Sherlock explained slowly. "You keep your journal there, though, but no one is allowed to read it besides you."

"The last thing with the blog that I remember is that I shut it down when Greg brought over your birthday video... it would be..." John paused and tilted his head, doing the math. "Just about 14 months ago now. October of 2012"

Sherlock tilted his head and furrowed his brows. "You did get the video only in October? That was a bit too late."

John nodded. "I got it in October, yeah." He finished up his egg and stood up to put his plate in the sink. "Greg said that he found a few things of yours in the office, and brought them over to me." He stuck the plate into the sink and turned on the water, pouring a bit of soup onto the plate. "When was I supposed to have gotten it?"

"On your birthday of course." He explained. "I never explained the thing I had, right? I just told you that I would be busy. Well, your birthday was after the fall."

John let out a small breath as he froze, letting the water just flow down the plate. "You..." He frowned. "I can't believe that..." He sighed. "You planned it all in advance?"

"I didn't know it would be end like this from the beginning, no, so it wasn't planned." Sherlock said slowly. "But I had the idea that I wouldn't be there."

John resumed scrubbing the dirty plate. "What do you mean?" He shut the water and started wiping down the plate with a dishcloth. "You said in the video that you wouldn't be there because of my friends...?" He bit his lip slightly, realizing that he just gave himself away for memorizing the video. Ah, well... He probably already shared it with Sherlock once before... In an earlier "memory cycle", if it could be called something so crude.

"Well, I said that I would be busy and I was busy being dead. But I really couldn't tell you that, right? So I told you that I wouldn't be there because of your friends."

"Heh." John put the plate back in the closet, and turned to face Sherlock, "You're a sneaky bastard, you know that?" He smiled teasingly. "A genius, but a sneaky genius."

"Should I take that as a compliment?" He chuckled and looked up with a smile.

John bit his lip as he nodded, feeling a rush of contentment at Sherlock's expression.

"Oh... I almost forgot!" Sherlock stood up quickly and walked into his bedroom, and John heard some things being moved around for a few minutes. Sherlock returned with a small smile on his face, holding a  small brown box out to John.

He took the box from Sherlock and examined it curiously. "What is it?" He looked at the other man and smiled. "And apparently I'm not the only one who's forgetting things now..." He flicked his tongue out momentarily as he smiled, teasing Sherlock. This was comfortable. This was good. It felt... right.

"Open it." Sherlock answered with a smirk.

Inside the box, John found a handmade leather-bound journal, underneath which was a set of dog togs.

John took out the journal and smiled widely. "This is..." He looked at Sherlock, a sincere expression on his face. "It's perfect." He looked back in the box and saw the dog tags. He tucked the journal in the crook of his elbow and picked the dog-tags up gently by the chain. "You..." He paused. "You kept them."

Sherlock smiled widely as he nodded and moved his hand to reveal John's dog tags he had under his shirt. "I never took them off. They're around my neck for every day since you gave them to me. So I thought it would be only fair if you get one with my information on it."

"Oh!" John smiled widely as he realized that they weren't actually  _his_  tags. He chuckled, realizing that his would actually look a bit more worn than the ones in the box, besides for the fact that these were thinner. He quickly put down the box and the journal, and examined the tags. "I thought these were mine for a minute." John bit his lip. "But this is loads better." John felt a small flutter in his stomach as he looked at the other man, and quickly looked away, pulling on the dogtags. "I'll wear them always." He swallowed. "This way, next time I forget, these'll hopefully remind me."

"I meant to give them over to you for your birthday back then, but I... Well, I was unavailable. And we weren't together at that point, were we?" He paused. "I was going to ask you with them, actually." He shrugged and blushed at the same time, while staring at the floor.

John sighed happily, and reached down for Sherlock's hand. "Thank you." He smiled sincerely and squeezed the other's hand. "It's perfect." He paused for a moment, and shrugged slightly. "Even if it is two and a half years late."

"I'm sorry, John." He said quickly, entwining their fingers with John's. "And I'm very glad that you like it."

John rubbed Sherlock's hand with his thumb and whispered. "I love it."

Sherlock shivered slightly and smiled shyly at John. "That's good. I'm happy."

"Me too." John leaned in, his eyes locked on Sherlock's. "I quite like you, Sherlock Holmes." His heart skipped a beat as he spoke.

Sherlock chuckled. "I am glad that this doesn't seem to change. No matter how often you forget me. You still like me."

"Because I liked you before, you idiot." He smiled sadly. "I always liked you."

"I know..." Sherlock said quietly. "But I'm afraid every time that you'll forget me in your next episode."

"That's  _never_  going to happen." John said, sure of himself. "It's  _anterograde_  amnesia. Meaning there's an issue forming and keeping new memories. Everything from before the incident that caused this is safe." He blushed, "Including my crush on you..."

"I know, John, but that doesn't mean I just stop being afraid. I just fear that something changes and you'll forget about me too."

"I  _swear_  I'll never forget you." He sighed and looked down, squeezing Sherlock's hand slightly. "I could never forget the man who saved my life."

"I don't mean to be hard. But don't promise such things, John. You can't be sure." Sherlock smiled sadly.

Surprised at the lack of reaction, John loosened his hold on Sherlock's hand, and stepped away, running his hand through his hair. "I told you?" His voice was quiet, and he smiled shakily. "'Course I told you, you're my fiance." It was getting easier to think of him in that way. Fiance. Not even boyfriend... Fiance.

"What do you mean by that question, John?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head to the side. 

"Oh!" His eyes widened as he remembered. "Right... You, uh... You found me after... I tried." He coughed, trying to cover his slip-up.

"John? What are you going on about?" Sherlock frowned at John.

John forced a smile and quickly turned away. He had been about to share that part of himself with Sherlock, but when he had thought he already told him... It shocked him, and now that Sherlock may not know... He swallowed and grabbed a cup from the counter, quickly putting it in the sink to fill it up.

"John?" Sherlock asked, his eyes trained on John. "What are you doing? What's going on?" He crossed his arms as he stared at the doctor.

"Nothing! I-" He turned off the water and took a long drink. He looked at Sherlock briefly and pressed the cold glass against his lips as he turned his head to look away. "I just..." He sighed shakily. "That wasn't the first time I tried." He mumbled quickly and then pursed his lips, not daring to look at Sherlock's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DAHN DAHN DAHN cliffhanger


	4. The Past Effects the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John shares a bit of himself with Sherlock that he never did before and a very heavy discussion is had.

"First time you tried...?" Sherlock repeated softly, looking at John with a confused expression before he exhaled an 'Oh'. Sherlock took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "When was the other time...?" His voice was hesitant.

"Twice." John replied, blinking rapidly. "First time was..." His voice cracked, "I was younger. A jock found out I had a boyfriend and-" He took a drink. "And told the whole football team." He chuckled sadly. "It was hell." He cleared his throat and looked down at his cup. "That's why I... I don't really share that I'm bisexual with people."

John stepped over to the table and set his water down, spreading his arms out and placing his weight on it. "And the second time..." He rubbed his chin roughly. "Second time was after I got back from Afghanistan."

Sherlock listened and nodded, his expression softer than John ever remembered seeing before. "I never expected this, John." He said quickly. "At least not in your youth. That you tried after Afghanistan... That could have been expected. What stopped you...? Or were were found early enough?"

"First time it was Harry." He looked up at Sherlock. "The first time we met, you guessed that the reason we're distant is because of her drinking or her breakup... Remember?"

"Yes, I do remember. The signs on the phone. It was obvious. But it wasn't because of her drinking problem?"

John sighed. "No..." He shrugged and pushed off of the table. "Well, she does have a drinking problem, you've seen it." He paused. "But that's not why we don't get on." He sniffed nervously. "She found me with..." He swallowed, and noticed that his hands were shaking. He clenched them and laughed nervously. "She found me with my..." His voice rose. "Razors." He shifted on his feet slightly and swallowed. "I made her swear not to tell our parents, but-" He pursed his lips briefly. "They took me out of school and sent me to a ward for a bit." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I know she meant best, but still..." He looked down. "She'd promised, and I trusted her."

"I never have seen scars. Or maybe... I didn't want to see them..."

"I don't scar easily." John smiled sadly. "They only ever showed up as slightly discolored patches." He rubbed his hands together. "Unless you know where I did it, you wouldn't be able to see it."

How old were you...?" Sherlock's voice was unsteady. "You were sent into a ward, into therapy?"

He cleared his throat. "I was fourteen, and yeah, I was sent to a ward. My parents..." He sighed. "They didn't really understand that the worst thing to do is send your suicidal kid _away_." He shrugged. "Either way, it helped for a bit, though I stopped talking to Harry when I got back."

"John... We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to... It's clear that you're uncomfortable."

John shook his head quickly. "No... The conversation started, and it needs to be finished..." He smiled shakily. "Besides, you probably should know what you're getting into if you plan to marry me."

"Oh, John. This would never change my view of you. Never. I am surprised, yes, but only because I wasn't expected it at all. But I don't think any different of you." Sherlock sighed and moved a bit, moving his hands up to the table and showing John his scarred wrists. "I know what you're talking about."

"Shit..." John murmured as he looked down at Sherlock's wrists. He slowly took the other's hands and rubbed the scars with his thumbs. "We make a right healthy couple, don't we?" He looked up at Sherlock slowly. "I love you..." He whispered, his stomach flipping as he said it. "You're beautiful and perfect and you have the sexiest voice I have ever heard." Lord, it felt good to finally be able to say it, though he had most probably said all that before.

Sherlock blushed. "I love you too... God, stop it, you're making me blush."

John smirked. "You look good with a bit of color," he teased. "So no, I shan't stop."

He took Sherlock's hand gently, running his hands over his fingers, coming to rest on Sherlock's ring, feeling the other man shiver in response to the touch. "I have an idea."

"An idea...? What are you talking about?"

John smiled. "Where's my ring?"

"In my nightstand. I put it there yesterday. Why are you asking? What are you planning, John?"

John walked over to the door to Sherlock's bedroom. He still thought of it as Sherlock's and not theirs, so he looked over at Sherlock. "Can I...?"

Sherlock stood up and followed John. "Of course, it's your room too... Of course you can enter."

John opened the door and stepped in. "I was thinking..." He walked over to the night table and picked up his ring, looking at it thoughtfully for a moment before speaking, "I was wondering if you'd be willing to be my boyfriend."

John turned to see Sherlock standing by the doorway with his eyebrows raised. "What are you talking about, John? We are already boyfriends, why are you asking...? Or... Again?"

"I mean..." He paused awkwardly, trying to figure out how to put it. "I'm coming into this relationship with a blank slate..." He clutched the ring in one hand as he pulled the dogtags back over his head. "I'd feel better if we can start at the beginning." He fiddled around with the chain for the dogtags, opening it and sliding his ring on it. "I don't _not_  want to be engaged to you..." He said softly. "But I'd rather ease into it." He smiled. "Hence my question... Would you like to be my boyfriend... again?"

"Oh... Well... Okay." There was a brief flash of disappointment on Sherlock's face, but it was quickly covered up. "A new start... Of course. If that's what you want, we can do it like that, sure."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." John closed the clasp to the chain and pulled it back over his head. "I really, _really_  am." He smiled sadly. "But otherwise it's just too... sudden." He fiddled with the ring on the chain, and held it out a bit. "I'm still wearing it, and when I'm ready to move further, it'll find it's way to my finger..." He stepped towards Sherlock. "Just not yet. Not today." He shook his head slightly.

"Don't be sorry. I'll manage. It's okay. So don't worry. I'm okay." He smiled sadly at John and looked down. "Maybe I should move my ring up to my chain too."

John scratched at his forehead with his thumb. "Do what you want." He smiled. "As long as you don't lose it." He bit his lip teasingly. "I don't remember how much I paid for it, but it looks expensive enough not to misplace."

"I don't want to, but I think it would be better so you won't be reminded every time you look at my hand, you know?" Sherlock removed the ring from his finger, quickly attaching it to the chain he was wearing around his neck.

John smiled slightly. "Thank you." 

"So it was disturbing you...?" He asked, looking at his now ringless hand.

John shook his head quickly. "No... No it wasn't." He smiled. "I meant thank you for thinking of it that way." He took Sherlock's hand, touching where the ring was. "I don't mind if _you_  wear it... Just for _me_... It feels off."

"Okay, if you're sure." Sherlock shivered again as John touched his hand, particularly when he reached the spot where the ring had been. "It feels so odd. Without it, I mean. But I'll manage."

John looked down briefly and then looked back up into Sherlock's eyes. "You've changed, you know..." He paused. "Since two - _and a half_ \- years ago."

"I have?" He asked, tilting his head, moving to sit on the bed. "How have I changed?"

John sat down next to Sherlock, not letting go of his hand. "You used to be..." He searched for a word. "...Rougher." He looked down at the other's hand, and started running his thumb over the creases in his palm. "You used to be a bit..." He looked up, unsure of how to put this without hurting Sherlock. "Unfeeling."

Sherlock nodded. "You're not the first one to say that. I didn't use to be like this, and I still like to be... _unfeeling_ , to be quite honest. I don't like feelings, I don't like it when they have such power about me. I still think that they're a weakness, so I try to shut them out from time to time. I was afraid to let my feelings for you show, because you always claimed to be not gay, so I didn't want to let it out in fear that you'll reject me."

John scoffed. "Harry's gay, Sherlock... And besides, I'm _not_  gay." He chuckled teasingly, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"No, that's not what I meant. I knew that you wouldn't have a problem with me being gay, I knew that you'd never judge me for that, but I was afraid that if I was going to tell how about my feelings, you'd leave."

John smiled sadly. "Things could have been so different, don't you think?" He shook his head slightly. "Just imagine it..." He suddenly felt a pang of sadness. "I probably would still remember you." He paused for a moment. "Or... not."

Sherlock nodded and shrugged at the same time. "I know. I always think about it. Every time I wake up, I think and wait if you're able to remember. And then I think about the mistake I've made. I still feel guilty."

John shook his head slowly. "But there is the question, no?" He chuckled. "Tennyson. 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.'" He sighed. "If I'd have had you and _t_ _hen_  lost you, it may have just been harder... or not." He looked down. "I guess we'll never know."

Sherlock turned away just a bit. "But... just imagine how I feel at the moment, John. I fear every day to lose the man I love, because I can never be sure that you remember me."

John quickly reached his hand up, turning Sherlock's face back to look at him gently. "You'll never lose me, Sherlock." He swallowed. "Don't you understand? I may not remember everything about you, but I am always and forever _yours_." He bit his lip. "I promise."

"But I wake up and it feels like that when you forgot me, like I've lost a part of you again. What if you don't trust me one day? What if your amnesia goes further back and you'll forget completely about me?" He asked, shrugging, before he stood up. "I think we have to go to your appointment."

"Well, if that happens, I'd probably wind up dead." John stood up as well and started towards the door.

"Wind up dead...?" Sherlock repeated with a frown.

"Well, you were the only think keeping me alive for that year and a half... And then when you were gone, it was only the reminder of how I felt when you left that kept me going. I didn't want to do that to the others, though it got really hard near the end." He ran his hand over his face. "If the last thing I remember is coming home from-" He cleared his throat. "I wouldn't be able to do it." He sighed. "I mean... now, I knew you already... So your showing up and telling me that we're together isn't that big of a leap... It kept me from trying it again." He bit his lip. "However, if I wouldn't know you to begin with..." He looked down and swallowed roughly. "I was in a bad place then... and if someone were to show up and tell me that we'd been together for a year or something, and that I had forgotten 5 years..." His voice cracked, "If there's an actual edge to sanity, I think that would push me over, most definitely."

"I'll promise you won't be pushed over the edge, I'll be there to keep you sane, to hold you back, no matter what I have to do, you won't be pushed over the edge, John." Sherlock said quickly, stepping closer to John and taking his hand. "I'll leave you notes here, in case I won't be around, but I am going to make you feel safe, okay?"

John pulled his hand out of Sherlock's and shook his head, looking down. "But if that happens..." He swallowed. "If I don't know you... If the last thing I remember is coming back-" He looked back up. "Don't you realize how finding out that I missed 5 years of my own life would effect me?" His voice shook. "If that happened..." He cleared his throat. "Put me away?" He took Sherlock's hand now. "Promise me. Promise that if I forget you, you'll put me in a ward."

"Then I make it look like we just met, that we just ran into each other. I don't know." Sherlock breathed slowly, obviously trying to keep calm. "A ward? Why would I put you in a ward, John?"

"I was _done_  before." He breathed out shakily. "When I met Mike-" He swallowed and ran his hands through his hair. "I had already figured it all out. That was going to be the last day." He closed his eyes and breathed out forcefully. "I..." He swallowed. "You saved my life, Sherlock." his voice cracked. "And if I don't know you..." He trailed off, his eyes watering.

"I am not going to let you kill yourself, John. I promise." He stepped closer to John, opening up his arms as an offer to John, and John smiled shakily, tears spilling over as he hugged Sherlock. Tightly. He held on for far over 30 seconds. He just held on, his face damp. There were no sobs emanating from his lips, but there were definitely whimpers. "I'm sor-" John pulled away suddenly and swallowed roughly, wiping his face. "I'm sorry. That was..." He breathed shakily. "That was a bit much, I think."

"Heeeey..." Sherlock reached up to cup John's face. "It's okay, John... Don't apologize, John. Never apologize. For anything." Sherlock wiped away some tears from John's cheek. "What do you think...? About getting into a ward...? Now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: DRAMA
> 
> (as if this wasn't drama to begin with.)  
> (I just realized that I should probably tag angst.)


	5. Angsty Cuddles in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock discuss the probability of getting John into a ward while in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, there is angst. But there is also a fair amount of fluff to balance it out!
> 
> Enjoy!

"Shiiit..." John backed up a bit, his legs weak and fell back into a sitting position on the bed again. "I don't-" He let out a small moan. "I..." He breathed out, forcing his breathing to normalize. "I don't know." He huffed. "I really don't know."John felt goosebumps run up his body as he felt Sherlock take off his shoes and move his legs up onto the bed.

"Calm down, okay? I don't want to get you away, I'm just asking because it might help you." Sherlock's voice was soft. "Getting you into intensive care, into intensive therapy, you know? We can talk about it with Mary."

John shifted on the bed for comfort and swallowed roughly. "I don't want to be ill, Sherlock." He shook his head. "I don't want to be an invalid."

"I will always love you. No matter what, John. You're not weak. You are very strong and I love you so very much." Sherlock pulled the blanket over him. "It's not a weakness to go into a ward. And I won't send you away, okay? I just think that that might help you better."

John sat up quickly and grabbed Sherlock's hand. "I love you. Even though I don't remember it, I _love_  you."

"I know, honey, I know it. I'm not having any doubts about it, It's written on your face." Sherlock intertwined their fingers gently. "I don't want to be like your parents, sending you away, because I don't know how to deal with it... It was your suggestion."

John squeezed Sherlock's hand tightly, gradually regaining control. "I'm sorry..." He sat up slowly and lifted Sherlock's hand to his mouth, kissing it gently. "Thank you." He smiled sadly. "And I'm so _so_ sorry that you have to put up with this."

Sherlock smiled. "Don't worry about it, love. I don't have to put up with it. It's nothing bad. I like it. It's good."

John cleared his throat. "How late are we for the appointment at this point?"

"About an hour."

"Shit..." John sighed. "Do you think she may have an opening later?"

"I texted her earlier to tell her we might not make it in. It's fine, John." Sherlock explained as he moved a bit more on the bed, closer to John.

John nodded, looking down. "I..." He looked up, meeting Sherlock's eyes. "I think..." He said slowly, barely meaning what he was saying, "I think we should..." His voice descended into a whisper, "Go for a walk..." He bit his lip. "Get some air..." He swallowed. "You know?" He still hadn't looked away from Sherlock's eyes.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked, locking his gaze with John's. "You could just stay here and maybe get another hour of sleep."

John picked up his hand slowly to touch the side of Sherlock's face. Then, in a flash, he leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips.

Sherlock\melted into it, moving his lips with John.

John closed his eyes, savoring the moment, and then pulled away slowly, his hand still on Sherlock's face. He rubbed his thumb along the other's cheek. "I don't need sleep. I feel like I've been asleep for all these six months."

Sherlock looked at John, almost annoyed about the loss of John's lips, but then he smiled. "That wad almost poetic. Okay, let's go then."

John nodded, but made no move to stand up. "You're a good kisser." He smiled widely. "There's nothing quite like a first kiss."

Sherlock returned the smile as he looked at John. "It's most endearing that you're so shy at the moment. Even though I know you're most certainly not."

John bit his lip gently as he tilted his head. "I am only getting to know you this way now..." He whispered, "Of course I'd be shy." He leaned in again, slower this time and kissed Sherlock again. This time, he stayed for longer, savoring the taste. He loved him. _Lord_ , he loved him.

Sherlock tilted his head, letting John take control of the whole situation.

"When was our first kiss?" John asked in between kisses, slightly breathless now.

"After you were released from the hospital. You came back to Baker Street, punched me and kissed me against the door."

John pulled away, smiling. "A lot of punching from me..." He laughed as he kicked the covers off. "I guess you're lucky that this time I was to surprised to use a right hook." He stood up from the bed slowly, biting his lip and turning to face Sherlock.

"Yeah, but you never punch too hard. You might be all hard soldier boy and whatnot, but you never use all your strength when you punch me." He explained, looking up at John and watching him. "What are you thinking?"

"I have no idea." He smiled and leaned in, putting his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, pushing him gently downward. "I just know that I don't want to leave Baker Street." He kissed him gently. "I don't want to leave you."

Sherlock let himself, being moved by John and locked his gaze with John's. "That's good. That's very good, because I don't want you to leave me. Ever."

John ran his hand down the side of Sherlock's face and kissed him gently. "Tell me about yourself." He smiled. "All this time I've been asking about me, and I have hardly thought to ask about you." He lay himself down next to Sherlock gently, his hand resting on his chest. This felt so right.

Sherlock shivered at John's contact and then looked over at him. "I don't know." He shrugged, looking lost. "What do you want to hear?"

"Hmmm..." John thought, looking at Sherlock. "What is your favorite smell?" He knew a lot of things about Sherlock from before, but there were things he hadn't learned over the near 2 years they had lived together as friends. "And don't say cigarettes." He chuckled. "That's off limits."

Sherlock thought about his for a second, before he sighed. "Mostly you. When you come out of the shower, after a chase, after our first kiss. The first sex. After you shot the cabbie."

"Oh God, the cabbie." John smiled as he ran his hand through his hair. "D'you think Lestrade knew? That it was me, I mean?"

Sherlock nodded without hesitation. "I was prattling off information on the shooter to him. I didn't know and I stopped as soon as I noticed it was you, but he looked at you and sighed. I think he knows. But I think he would have done the same, and he knew you did it to protect me."

John smiled softly. "I missed you..." He whispered as he gazed into the other's eyes. "Another question..." He paused. "How much do you like kisses on your nose?" He smirked as he turned quickly to plant one.

"You made me to love them." Sherlock scrunched his nose slightly, before chuckling. "I missed you too."

John settled back into the bed, propping himself up with his elbow. "What do you mean, you missed me?" He tilted his head. "I've been here the whole time..."

"Yes, I know. But the last hours you weren't yourself and now you're starting to be my John again." Sherlock blushed and looked down.

" _Your_  John, hmm?" He adjusted his head, smiling widely. "More questions..." He thought, trying to figure what he wanted to ask. "Do you still frequent Bart's? Get along with Mike?" He paused. "Do I?"

Sherlock shrugged slowly. "Yes, I'm still going there. Mike is... alright. he introduced us and didn't stop smiling like an idiot because he played matchmaker. You do get along. He's your best friend."

John looked at Sherlock. "I doubt that." He smiled slightly, absently. He reached up to play with Sherlock's hair as he gazed at his face. "You're beautiful."

"You doubt what?" Sherlock asked. "And you are too."

"That he's my best friend." He leaned his head against the bed. "You are, Sherlock. Even if you're my boyfriend or fiancé or eventually husband, you will always be my best friend."

"Oh... I see. I never thought that you would think of me as your best friend. But I never thought of you being my boyfriend."

"What do you mean?" He pulled his hand away from Sherlock's head, propping his head up with it, looking down at Sherlock. "Did we just jump from friends to fiancés?"

"No. I mean... When we first met, I never thought that you would want to be my friend. When I realized my feelings for you, I never thought you would consider me worthy enough to be my boyfriend. I never expected any of this to happen."

" _Worthy_?" John laughed and leaned over so that he was looking straight down at Sherlock with his hands on the bed, their feet entangled. "You're an idiot." He leaned down and kissed Sherlock slowly.

Sherlock looked up at John and smiled softly. "It's just you are so much better."

"What?" John bit his lip as he pulled away, looking down at Sherlock. "You're kidding, right?"

"Why would I joke about something like this, John? I mean it... You are better than me."

John laughed and shrugged, leaning in to kiss Sherlock again. "You're crazy if you think I'm better than you." John pulled away and rubbed his leg against Sherlock's. "Why do you think I never told you how I felt?"

"Why am I crazy? It's the truth. You're warm and caring and lovingly. You're calm and loyal and good. You step into a room and everyone looks at you. You smile, you make a joke and everyone falls in love with you."

"Well look at that..." John bit his lip, grinning widely. "I never thought you were so romantic, Sherlock Holmes."

"This was romantic?" He asked, sounding surprised. "Well, I didn't know I am."

"That was _very_  romantic." He chuckled and sat down next to Sherlock, still making sure that his legs touched the other's, savoring the physical contact. "I think you missed your calling as a poet."

"Maybe I got inspired by one of your emails to your former girlfriends. I used to log in to your account and I've read all of them." He chuckled as he sat up, leaning his head over to John.

"Oh God..." John shook his head. "You're..." He rolled his eyes. "I was horrible, wasn't I?" He paused. "I didn't write you anything, did I?" He had a slightly mortified expression on his face as he asked.

"No. You never wrote me anything. But I found the letters you wrote to me when I was 'dead'. I know that I wasn't supposed to read them, but I was too curious."

"Oh no..." John laughed as he covered his face. "I remember those." He lowered his hands so they just covered his mouth. "How bad we're they?"

"Well..." Sherlock shrugged, blushing softly. "If you want me to be honest, I cried after reading them."

"No you didn't." John bit his lip as he looked at Sherlock. "You're just trying to make me feel better."

"Why would this make you feel better?" Sherlock asked, turning his head.

"About the stupid letters, I mean." He chucked. "They were cheesy... I know you probably hated them ."

"John, I've meant what I was saying. I was crying after I read them. They weren't cheesy, and I didn't hate them."

John smiled and looked down, a small flush growing on his cheeks. After a moment he looked back up. "You're too nice to me."

"I'm just telling the truth." He answered with a smile, stroking over John's red cheeks.

John closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of Sherlock's hand. "Shut up... You're making me blush..." He but his lip as he kept his eyes closed, sighing slightly, "I'm so happy right now."

Sherlock sighed. "Me too. Unbelievably so."

John rubbed his head against Sherlock's shoulder briefly and smiled. "This is going to be okay, I think." He bit his lip. "I think it could work... I just need to ease back into it, you know?" A small frown flashed across his face. "I definitely do _not_  want to be in a ward." His brow furrowed. "I feel like it would only make things worse."

"I won't bring you there against your will, John. For sure. I was just suggesting it in case you might feel better there. Where professionals were going to help you, you know." He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "But you should continue to go to your therapist."

"Yeah..." He nodded slightly. "But I mean... I would be away from you." He swallowed. "And I don't think that would help in the least."

"I can come with you. To your therapist I mean. I won't come into the room, but I can stay in the waiting room, if you want me to."

John smiled. "I would like that." He paused. "But I meant the ward... If I were to be in a ward, I wouldn't be with you. And the next time I forget..." His voice cracked and he swallowed, looking at the wall without blinking. "I don't want to do that."

"Maybe it's for the best." 

"No!" John said sharply. "I don't want to forget you..." He bit his lip as he looked down at Sherlock. "Unless... You think I'm too much of a burden?" Oh God. Of course, he was a burden to Sherlock. Why didn't he see it before? He was too wrapped up in his own troubles to see the troubles he was giving Sherlock. "God, I'm sorry." He sighed and covered his face with his hands. "I just..."

"What?" Sherlock looked at him and was confused for a moment, before his mind was able to process what was happening. "No. I never said that, John. You're not a burden to me. But it's painful for you to go through it over and over and over again."

"It would be worse to be without you," John said simply. "If I were in a ward, I would be suicidal the whole time..." He shut his eyes tightly. "Before you texted me back yesterday..." He bit his lip. "I don't want that to be my default." He looked down at his hands. "I'd rather do this a thousand times over, as long as I could be with you."

"But so much could happen, John. You could just forget to text me, I could just not get one of your texts, because I've got no signal. Anything could be wrong." He said with a sigh. "I have to live in current fear that I'll come home to find you dead."

"God..." Sherlock's words hit him like a sack of bricks and he covered his face with his hands. "God, you're right..." He muttered into his palms, "If I hadn't texted you..." He turned to look at Sherlock, his eyes tearing up, "You're right. " His breath hitched a bit as he started crying quietly, "I could have killed myself, and you-" He stopped, "-Oh God..."

"John please..." He lifted his hand to touch John's shoulder softly. "Please calm down, okay, honey? Please. Don't panic. It's alright. Everything's alright, okay?"

"Okay, okay..." John swallowed roughly, trying to calm down, but it didn't help. "You could have come home, and I could have been dead..." He picked up his hand to his shoulder to take Sherlock's "I'm so sorry, Sherlock." He bit his lip. "I need to be in a ward."

"John..." Sherlock turned to look at him. "Calm down." He breathed out again and sighed. "I won't put you in a ward. You'll get suicidal there, and I don't want that to happen. No."

"I was suicidal anyway, Sherlock..." He whispered. "I need to be in a ward _because_  of that." He pulled Sherlock's hand down to his lap and looked down at it, playing with it and interlocking their fingers. "If you'd have been on a case... Or if you had been, I don't know, too busy to have seen my text, I would probably have done it." He looked up at Sherlock, trying to keep his voice steady, "And that could happen again." He sighed shakily. "I can't do that to you. I can't risk killing myself." John picked Sherlock's hand up to his mouth and kissed it gently. "We don't know when I'll have my next attack... I need to be watched. And the only place that can be done is in a ward."

"No..." He breathed out. "I'll stay at home with you, follow you, make sure you always know, that I always know when you are texting me. I don't want you to get the feeling to be locked away from me."

"I can't do that to you... You need your cases."

"I don't care about them. I can take cold ones, solving them at home or taking you with me whenever you're feeling up to it."

John reached out and hugged Sherlock tightly. "I hate this so much..."

"I know, honey. I know." He leaned closer to John. "We could just... wait from now. To your next attack and decide then it we are going to your therapist and you talk to her."

John nodded into Sherlock's shoulder. "Okay." He pulled away, his face stoic again. "We'll talk about it though... It- it needs to be discussed."

"Don't... John, don't hide your feelings away. Your face just hardened. You seem like you're locking them away. Don't do it."

John smiled slightly. "It's a force of habit." He sighed, "I think..." He cleared his throat. "I think the ward should be a part-time thing. So you can have a normal life some of the time." He took Sherlock's hand again. "This way we can be sure that I won't kill myself, and you can still take the cases that make you happy." He looked down. "You could visit me, and take me out. And when things to well, I could come home for spells." He couldn't believe he was talking about this so logically. So... plainly.

Sherlock took John's hand and moved a bit, looking at the other man. "John... be honest. Don't think about me this now, only you. And then tell me are you really sure you would make it...?"

"Make it... What do you mean?" John tilted his head, slightly confused.

"You said a ward would make you suicidal. So even if It's just part time who can say that you wouldn't want to kill yourself when you realize that you're in a ward again."

"I meant if I'd be stuck in a ward without knowing you're alive." He bit his lip. "If you'd visit though..."

"Of course I'd visit you. Every day if you want me to." He said quickly. "But... are you sure...? You don't have to do this for me, John. Never for me."

"I refuse to ruin your life by making you stop your cases." He smiled sadly. "Besides, you would probably end up killing one of us out of boredom within a week."

"Do... Do you really think so little of me, John? I didn't take cases for the last while and we seem to be pretty fine..." He sighed. "You wouldn't ruin my life, but I'd ruin yours with putting you in there."

"I don't think that little of you, Sherlock... I think that highly of you." John reached over and cupped Sherlock's face gently. "I know you're too much of a genius to be able to live without the rush..." He sighed. "I think it should be a part time thing. I'll still be here- be _home_  -a lot, but I should probably get used to being in a ward and being supervised." John reached up and played with the ring on Sherlock's dogtags. "I don't even know what is right or wrong in this situation..." He looked down, biting his lip. "I just... I want us to work, but I don't want you to have to change your life. I want things to be the way they _should_  be. I want you to take big cases that take you across the country and I want to be able to come with you... I want to be able to just _be_ with you without being afraid I'm going to forget you the next day."

"You don't want to change my life with me stopping my cases, but I don't want to change your life with putting you into a ward... Don't you see why I don't want to put you there? Even if It's just part time. I don't want your life to be changed that much." Sherlock shrugged, looking down at the ring and the dog tags. "I don't know."

"I just want you to be happy." John leaned forward and kissed Sherlock, his hand still on the other's dogtags, and the other hand finding its way to the side of his face, caressing it gently as he kissed. "As long as I know you're alive, and that you love me, I'll be happy."

Sherlock tilted his head and leaned into John's touch and locked his gaze with the other man. "But...I'll be able to visit you any time, right? You're able to come home, whenever you want to. And you won't hide things from me."

"Yes. A thousand times yes." John smiled sadly. "I don't want to be there indefinitely... Only... so that we can be sure I won't kill myself when I forget." He furrowed his brow. "And what on earth would I ever keep from you?"

"I'm just reminding you, so you won't keep your feelings or thoughts to yourself, because you think they might hurt me or something like this."

John pulled away slightly, letting go of Sherlock's ring, and reached up to play with his own, his expression slightly distant. "I can't help that, can I? I don't want to hurt you... I don't want you to-" He didn't know how to verbalized how much he would hurt if he ever _ever_  hurt Sherlock. "I can't hurt you."

"You don't want me...What?" He asked and turned his head to watch John closely. "I can't have you lying to me, John. Whatever it is, you have to be truthful. I don't want to look at you and deducing that you are lying to me."  


"I know, I know..." John muttered and lowered his head in his hands. "It's just-" He sighed. "I know."

"It's just?" He repeated, furrowing his brows once more. "What? Finish your sentences."

"It's just I can't promise to tell you everything. I can't promise that, because I can't... I can't bear the thought of hurting you. Besides, whatever I lie about is just going to be forgotten anyway, right?" John laughed, trying to keep the mood light, while in fact he was getting more and more sucked into the old feeling of helplessness again.

Sherlock looked at John and nodded, before he let his head fall down. He looked at the blanket and moved his fingers over the fabric, staring at it. "But...I don't want you to feel obligated to lie to me, John. I want you to feel free and tell me everything what's on your mind."

"I will..." John said softly. His first lie. "I'll tell you everything." He leaned in to kiss Sherlock's lips gently and then pulled away, standing up. "I think I need a cuppa to calm down..." He turned to Sherlock. "What do you think?"

Sherlock's voice wavered, "Yes, please. A cuppa would be nice."


	6. Tea is Surpassed by Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock fight and forget about the tea... Who cares about who more? Well, they both feel they do.

John nodded and stepped out of the room, biting his lip. This wasn't easy in the slightest. It was hard as hell. He ran his hands through his hair, taking deep breaths as he put the kettle on. He felt like there were ropes around his chest and they were just getting tighter and tighter, making it harder to breath. He sat down by the table and lay his head in his palms heavily, his elbows on the table. What he wanted more than anything at that moment was to end it. He knew he had Sherlock, but Sherlock didn't have him. If he were out of the way, maybe Sherlock could find someone else he could be happy with... Not an invalid. The only thing keeping him from walking out the door right then was the fact that he truly did love Sherlock. He didn't want to hurt him. But he knew he was probably hurting him just the same by still existing. "Fuck..." He muttered into his hands, the self loathing rising in his chest again. "Fuck this..."

There was a faint sound of footsteps. "John..." Sherlock almost whispered, staying in the doorway. "Don't lie to me. Talk. Open up. Please."

John looked up quickly, his eyes red. "I-" He swallowed. "I can't do this to you again, Sherlock." His voice cracked and he stood up, everything spilling out, "I can't have you live with someone who doesn't know you.... You deserve better than me." He felt warm tears start flowing down his face. "You should just put me away and let me think you're dead." He sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. "You should find someone new... Someone who could love you back like you deserve." John's breath grew short as he started crying... Really crying. "You... You should have just let me die... You would have gotten over me, and you would have had a normal life." He swallowed and turned away from Sherlock, kicking the leg of the table. "You shouldn't have _saved_  me... It's obvious I should have just died."

"Stop it... Stop it. Stop it." Sherlock repeated over and over again. "Just stop it. I love you. I will _always_ love you. I don't want to put you away... I want to keep you, even if we have to start over every day and even if you wouldn't remember me at all, John." He said with a sigh. "If you want to break up, do it. But don't say you deserve to die."

' _But I do'_ , John thought, but he gulped and nodded. "You deserve a normal life. A normal boyfriend, and I'm not that." Lord, he didn't want to break up with him, but he couldn't... He couldn't do this to him. "I can never love you as much as you love me..."

"Since when do I have a normal life, John? I experiment with body parts in my kitchen, I solve crimes for the fun of it, and I get off by deducing people. My life is not normal. Never has been, never will be." Sherlock looked down and took a deep breath. " So this is it, then...? You're breaking up with me, now?"

John chuckled through his tears as Sherlock described his "normal" life, and sniffed, wiping his face with his hands. "I don't _know_!" He hiccoughed. "The only thing I know is that I can't keep doing this to you..." John looked up and bit his lip, his eyes swimming. "The look on your face yesterday when you walked in..." He jumped as the kettle started whistling. "I'm only going to do that to you again and again and again..." John repeated as he turned and shut the flame.

"If you consider to end our relationship, then do it now. Don't wait for a suitable moment, tell me now, so I can pack my things and leave." He announced, not looking at the other man, while he tried to remain calm. "You don't know if you're doing it over and over again. Maybe it was your last attack. The time between this one and your last one was longer than ever. It keeps improving."

"It's going to happen again, Sherlock, and it's stupid to keep believing that it won't!" John shouted, "It's _anterograde amnesia_  meaning I can't _store_  new memories!" His voice cracked as he spoke, "I'm just going to forget this argument, anyway, so why does it matter?" He sat down at the table resignedly. "How do I even really know that you haven't left before?" John laughed sardonically, "I don't know _anything_  anymore!" John glared down at the table, his cheeks wet. "I just.... I don't."

"Because...Why would I come back? Why would I come back if you threw me out before? Why would I come back with the knowledge that you don't want me anymore, John?" He asked and shook his head. 

"But I _do_  want you!" John looked up at Sherlock with puffy eyes. "And you know it. You know that I want you, so you know that if it works out just right, we could be together... If I get selfish... If I stop caring about _you_." John swallowed.

"But don't you see that this here is putting me through much more pain than any attack would be able to? This is you deciding against me, when you forget me it just...happens." He breathed out again.

"But this is just- this'll be the only time." John swallowed. "One fell swoop." He sighed. "I'm not deciding against you, I'm deciding _for_  you."

Sherlock shook his head. "But can't I make decisions for myself? It's my life, so why can't I make decisions for myself?"

John rest his head in his hands again, running his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't fucking know..." John muttered and then he looked up. "Because it's in reference to me... And I care that you're going through this... You don't deserve this, you deserve better. So it's _our_ lives and _our_  decision. Not just yours."

"But it's not yours either. You are just telling me that I need a normal life, that I need a normal partner who loves me more than you are able to do, without knowing that you are the most perfect man for me. The only one I want in my life." Sherlock sighed as he started to pace around the room.

"But I'm _not_!" John insisted, "I'm not..." He bit his lip, looking down. "I'm not good enough. I'm damaged goods."

"Oh, and I'm not damaged?" Sherlock blurt out. "You know what? I'm sick of it. I tell you that you are the perfect man for me but you can't accept it. Make up your mind. Stay or go..."

' _But I'm not perfect_ ', John thought and a rock caught in his throat. "I need some air." He looked up at Sherlock. "Actually, I need a drink... I'm gonna text Lestrade." He pulled his phone out of his back pocket.

"Do whatever you want. It's not like it matters what I say, apparently..." Sherlock turned around and kicked against chair, shouting angrily and indecipherably. 

John jumped as Sherlock shouted, and the tears started spilling out again. "I'm-" He swallowed. "I'm gonna go." He backed out of the room, and quickly shot out a text to Lestrade, asking him if he would be able to meet up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg shows up in the next chapter. :D 
> 
> As well as certain revelations and ANGST.


	7. Auburn Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets up with Greg at their usual pub, John gets drunk, heart to heart ensues.

Greg... I guess we've done this before? I forgot, and I need... I don't know what I need. Can we meet? -JW

Sure. I'm actually in the area. I'll meet you in the usual pub? -GL

Which is where, exactly? -JW

The one two streets down from Baker Street. -GL

The Auburn Falls? -JW

Yeah. I'm walking in now. I'll get you a beer -GL

* * *

 

A few minutes later, John walked into the bar. His eyes skimmed the room before his eyes fell on Lestrade and he smiled slightly, walking over to him. "Greg," he sighed as he sat down, and picked up the beer to take a drink, turning to face Lestrade. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"What happened?" Greg asked, taking a sip from his bottle. "I mean, of course, I know what _happened_. You forgot again and apparently you and him are fighting, but why? What happened between you two?"

"He..." John sighed and took another swig from his beer. "We..." He frowned. "I don't even know..." He sighed and looked down at the beer he was holding. "He deserves someone better."

"Oh not again..." Greg shook his head and sighed, taking another sip from his beer. "Did you tell him that you're not able to love him like he does and whatnot? And that you want to leave him?"

John looked up quickly. "I _knew_  this happened before." His eyes flashed angrily. "He said it didn't."

"Yes. It happened. You left him. You couldn't deal with it anymore. Just packed a bag and stormed out of the flat without an explanation."

Sherlock had lied. He said that this hadn't happened before. He said that they hadn't fought about this. John shook his head, tears threatening to start spilling over again. "And...?" He swallowed. "What happened?" He spoke without looking up. He felt betrayed. He knew this had to have happened... He knew that they weren't always as happy as Sherlock had said.

"Oi, don't look at me like that." Greg shrugged his shoulders. "You two were miserable. You were on my couch, crying without an end. And Sherlock? Well... He got himself to a drug den. Got himself a whole lot of drugs in order to be able to forget you. Mycroft found him early enough. Luckily."

"When was this?" John finished off his beer and motioned for another one. He was fuming at Sherlock, and he hated the entire situation. Sherlock went back to drugs, did he? The bartender gave him another beer and John took a drink. "How long ago?"

"I don't know. A couple of weeks." Greg took another sip from his own beer, working slower than John. "Don't make the same mistake, John. You're made for each other. Don't throw it away."

"I already did when I tried to kill myself." John stared down at his now half-empty second beer. "There's no way this could work..." He took another long drink, aiming for a buzz to take the edge off. "I'm a fucking invalid, and I can't do that to him..." John looked back up. "I'm gonna check myself into a ward so I don't bother you..." He took another drink. "All you have to do is keep Sherlock away from the drugs until he gets over me."

"Are you bloody serious? You want to lock yourself away and really break up with him?" He took a deep breath and looked at the doctor. "You're a bloody idiot, John. Don't do it, really. Stay with him. Please."

"I can't..." John looked up. "I can't keep doing this to him, Greg." He shook his head and downed the rest of his beer quickly. "I just can't..." John motioned for the bartender and asked for a double shot of scotch. "I know he loves me, and I just..." He sighed as he ran his hands through his hair, looking down at the table. "I can't keep stringing him along." The bartender put the shot down in front of John, and he downed it quickly, making a face as it burned the back of his throat. "You know... He really believes I'm going to start remembering again."

"Stop it, now." He said, taking the empty glass away from John and glanced at the barkeeper for a moment. "You are really stupid you know that? You don't want to hurt him? You're a real saint, aren't you? Don't you realize that leaving him would actually break his heart? You know, that thing he keeps acting like he doesn't have?" Greg blurted out. "This would destroy him. And you know that." Greg sighed, taking another sip from his beer. "And why is it so unlikely that you would start remembering?"

John shook his head and swallowed roughly. "It's easier this way." He said flatly, and looked up at the bartender to ask for another beer. "This way it won't be a constant." John snorted. "Am I the _only_  one who knows the slightest thing about medicine here? It's a _brain injury_ , Greg." He leaned over and tapped Lestrade's forehead with his finger. "What's lost is lost. Can't come back." The bartender brought over the new beer and John took a sip, working through this one slowly, feeling a bit of a buzz coming on. Now he was just drinking for the drink, not the feeling. He was just waiting for the real feeling to hit.

"It is not easier this way, John. Maybe for you, because you can run away and don't have to deal with Sherlock. You can lock yourself up in a ward and take medicine which is going to turn you into a slavering mess. Maybe another attack is going to hit you and you'll think that Sherlock is dead forever. This is running away. And the John Watson I know would never take that possibility. You're making progress. It's been longer since your last attack. It keeps getting longer." 

"Well I'm not the John Watson you know." John shot back, his voice cracking. He took a shaky breath and took another drink. "I don't even know who I am, but I am definitely not him anymore." He sighed, starting to feel slightly dizzy. 

"But you're still caring and lovely and whatnot. You wouldn't do this to Sherlock. You wouldn't break his heart, just because it's  easier." He murmured.

"It'll be easier for _him_!" John raised his voice slightly. "He could go on and have a normal life... Continue with his cases and save the world!" He shook his head, his vision starting to get a bit tunnely. "I'm just going to hold him back, and you know that."

"Have you not heard a thing I said? He wouldn't go on and have a normal life. He wouldn't continue with his cases and save the world. He'd most probably start to take drugs again, slipping, he'd kill himself without you with the drugs and you know that."

"He jus' needs time is all." John sighed. "Las' time... You said i' was two weeks ago?" He took a swig from his beer, feeling oddly at ease now despite the issues he was talking about. "It obviously didn't stick." He huffed. "Bu' now... Now I'll lock m'self away so he'll have to deal with it."

Greg took a deep breath, obviously fuming. "You are the biggest idiot I have ever met. You're worse than _Anderson,_ for God's sake." Greg hit the back of John's head with his palm. "You're not going to throw this away, John"

"Ow!" John exclaimed, quickly rubbing the back of his head. "I don' need you t' tell me 'm an idiot, I know I am..." John shook his head. "Sherlock deserves s'mone better." He mumbled, sticking to his guns. "You know what's funny?" He chuckled slightly. "I' was Sherlock's idea in the firs' place."

"Well, then he is an idiot too. But I don't think that he meant it like that." He explained and hit John's head again. "You are an idiot and you go back to Sherlock, live with him, marry him and have cute little babies."

"Ow!!!" John immediately retaliated with a bang on Greg's head. "Why'd you hi' me if i' was Sherlock?" He shook his head and swallowed. "How c'n that even work?" John sighed. "If we have kids, it'll be a nightmare! C'n you imagine what it'd be like with me forgetting?"

Greg moved away from John's hand and stared at him. "Maybe you won't forget. Maybe you have to get another examination. Don't give up so quickly John." He sighed. "Either way you go back voluntarily or I'll drag you to him and handcuff you to Sherlock..."

John chuckled and bit his lip. "Kinky." He took a swig from his beer and sighed. "S'not that I don' love him... I do, I really do." he paused. "But he d'serves more." He frowned. "There's nothin' t'examine, Greg. Sherlock said i' was brain damage tha' started the Ante-" He paused, the word all of sudden too big to come out right. "-Started that I can't form new mem'ries."

"It's nice and so selfless that you want to protect him and all that. And I know that you love him." He sighed again. "But why can't you see that you leaving him would hurt him more? He won't get over it. Never. And you have to get that into the thick head of yours. He wants you. And more importantly, he needs you like oxygen."

John groaned and ran his hands through his hair. "I need..." He frowned. "I dunno wha' I need, but I need it." He looked up at Lestrade, his head wobbling a bit. "I love him so much." John reached up and touched the dog tags that he was wearing under his shirt, and pulled them out, showing them to Lestrade. "He gave me these today." He smiled, and ran his finger over the ring absently. "The ring was mine though... I think."

Greg chuckled as he leaned forward to look at the ring. "That bastard. He didn't tell me anything! I thought you two were acting differently, but I would have thought you'd tell me. Well congratulations then. You're engaged to him. Do you really want to break this up?"

John giggled, feeling slightly lightheaded. "'Parrently I pr'posed in Bart's."

"And you even proposed? How cute you are." Greg giggled. "You can't break up with him."

  
"Wha'... Was I s'pposed t' jus' give him th' ring and tha's it?" John laughed. "'f course I pr'posed." John blinked slightly. "I think 'm drunk, Greg." 

"No shit, Watson." Greg chuckled and shook his head. "We should go then. Do you want me to bring you back to Baker Street or do you want to stay with me?"

John groaned and threw his head back to look at the ceiling. "I dunno..." The truth was, more than anything he wanted to go back to Sherlock and be done with this. Learn everything he forgot and keep going with their lives. But he still felt like he would be hurting Sherlock by doing that. "I want him," he said softly. "Bu' I don' wanna hurt him."

"Then the decision's made. You're going back to Baker Street. I'll say it again; I won't allow you to break up with him and even if I have to handcuff the two of you together." Greg said, taking out his wallet to pay the bartender before he downed his beer. "Ready to go?"

John nodded. "Mmhnn." He stood up slowly and the room spun around him. "Well..." He huffed and raised his eyebrows. "I liked this talk."

Greg followed John and moved quickly over to his friend, wrapping his arm around his shoulders to keep him up on his feet. "Come on, I'll get you home."

"Home sounds good." John slurred and leaned into Greg. "Y'r a good friend, Greg." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gah I love drunk John
> 
> XD
> 
> so many updates today!!! hehehe that's the good part of having it as an RP... You only have to edit it... No real writing required.


	8. Post Auburn Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets back to 221B completely drunk and tries to talk to Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT IS THIS MADNESS
> 
> MORE UPDATES
> 
> (don't get used to it... Eventually I'll get caught up to where we're up to in the RP, and you're going to have to wait.)

"Jesus, John. How did you even manage to get through med school and the army with that alcohol tolerance?" Greg got him out of the pub and supported him as they walked slowly back towards Baker street.

"Didn' like t' drink." John frowned. "My sist'r's an alcoholic, so I stayed away." He shrugged. "Bu' there's a time n' place f'r everything, I guess."

Greg shook his head. "Honestly, you're probably the biggest lightweight I've met. You usually just have a beer, but it  _always_ effects you."

John huffed and focused on walking, which suddenly seemed like a much larger task than it typically was. Eventually, he noticed that they stopped walking. John sighed and looked up at 221B. "Why is life so stupid, Greg?" He frowned. "I mean... Why can't things just work out?"

"Life isn't stupid, mate. Yeah, it's not easy all the time, but you'll manage, John. You love him and he loves you. You two are made for each other. So just... ease up, alright?" 

John nodded and leaned into Greg, walking to 221B unsteadily. "I think..." He smiled and stepped away from him. "I think I'm good from here..." He leaned against the door as he pushed it open. "I c'n get upstairs m'self." He didn't want Greg there when he got back into the flat. He had a lot to talk about with Sherlock, and while it seemed that Greg knew a lot, he also didn't know that John had proposed... He probably didn't tell him everything after all, and this discussion with Sherlock was going to be a whopper. "Thanks f'r the drinks, the walk back an'..." He chuckled. "The pep talk."

Greg held the door open and smiled at him. "Apologize to him. Try not to throw up on him. Alright soldier boy? You're an idiot but somehow you're cute."

"Don't..." He laughed and shook his head, pointing at Greg, "Don' call a soldier _cute_. We don' like it." He smiled as he closed the door and stared up the stairs. They were a bit harder to scale than he remembered, but he made it up to the door to the flat without incident. He pushed open the door slowly, the room spinning a bit. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. John frowned as he glanced around. "Sh'lock? 

It was a moment before John heard Sherlock's voice, a bit muffled, "Bedroom."

John stumbled to the bedroom slowly, and squinted as he looked around. "Where're you?" He giggled. "You said y're in th' bedroom."

"You're drunk." Sherlock sighed. "I'm under the bed."

"Yeah, m' drunk." John walked over to the bed and tried to bend down peek under, but only ended up tipping over and falling on his face. "Oops." He laughed as he turned his head to look at Sherlock under the bed. "Why're you down here?"

"Why not? It's calming me down and keeping me sane at the moment." Sherlock shifted under the bed, turning his back to John. "What do you want? Go to your bed and sleep. Take an aspirin. You'll have a hangover tomorrow."

"We nee'to talk." John frowned as Sherlock turned his back. "You lied t'me."

"No, we are not going to talk. Not while you're drunk like this. Your breath makes me dizzy." He sighed. "Maybe when you're sober again."

John groaned and forced himself into a sitting position, leaning against the bed. "'s too early t'go t'sleep."

"Read then. Watch telly. Whatever." Sherlock sighed again, taking a deep breath. "I don't want to talk to you when you're like this."

John rolled his eyes as he stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Whatever." He pouted as he stumbled out of the room to the sitting room, and threw himself down on the couch, crossing his arms. This wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. After a few minutes of sitting and thinking and feeling the room spin around him, he stood up to look for his laptop. He stumbled around the flat for a few minutes, trying to figure out where he kept his laptop. After a short while, he decided to look upstairs in his room. He started up the stairs, and tripped on the third one, thankfully not hurting himself, but he sat down and half laughed-half cried for a few moments on the stairs before resuming the climb. Once he got to his room, he pulled a few drawers out to find his laptop and found it in his nightstand, third drawer. He gripped the laptop tightly, hoping he wouldn't drop it, and started down the stairs, which was an easier task than climbing them. Once he reached the flat, he stepped in slowly and stumbled to his regular chair, groaning as he sat down, happy that he didn't have to keep moving anymore.

* * *

Sherlock closed his eyes, feeling relieved as he heard John leaving the room. He really didn't want to have to deal with a drunk John who would just tell him that he was going to pack his things and leave him, break up with him. He didn't know what a drunk John Watson would say, and he would rather deal with John when he was in full control of his faculties. Sherlock listened to the sounds coming from the living room and relaxed. He heard the footsteps coming out of the living room and he tensed for a moment, because he thought that John would come back, but the footsteps wound up going upstairs. Sherlock knew that he was being a tad unfair to John, that he should be nicer, but he really didn't want to deal with him when he was drunk. Most probably, drunk John would do something that sober John wouldn't approve of. Something like forgiving Sherlock.

* * *

John pulled his laptop open and logged in. He was _going_  to look for his journal, but he decided to write Sherlock an email first. He logged into his email and skimmed through his most recent messages to see if they triggered anything, but honestly, nothing was going through. He bit his lip and opened up a new email, hoping he wouldn't misspell too many things due to drunkenness.

_Sherlock;_  
 _I met with Greg. Obvoysly, you know that, you were there. Okay, I don't know, i"m just trying to make sense here. Basically, he told me that we tried to go our speperate ways before, but that it didn't stikc._  
 _I'm just ttyring to understand why ou lied to me._  
 _You said we were okay._  
 _You said that we were together_  
 _also Apparently Greg didn't know we were engaged?_  
 _Why not?_  
 _I don't know._  
 _Basically, I just... I want to spend sometme apartn, but I..._  
 _you went back to DRUGS??? WHY THE FUCK DID YOU GO BACK TO DRUGS??_  
 _I'm just really mad at you right now._  
 _I don't even know what the point of htis email is really..._  
 _Just... We really need totalk._  
 _-John_

He quickly sent out the email before he could read it over, and started looking around in his files for the journal, but he drifted off to a drunken sleep before he could find it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Drunk!John! 
> 
> Next comes hungover John, who is decidedly less fun. :P


	9. The Couple that Fights together...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John deals with his hangover and the memories of the revelations, and Sherlock deals with John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers*  
> What is this mythical thing that is called an update??

Sherlock had his eyes closed and just tried to push any thought away, taking deep breaths when he heard the ping of his phone, informing him that he received a new mail. He wanted to ignore it, but Sherlock was too curious so he took his phone out. He tensed as he noticed that the email was from John. Sherlock read through the letter quickly, breathing out only when he finished. So Greg had told John everything, even about the drugs. Maybe it was now too late to get their things together. Sherlock didn't know how or what to respond. He moved out of his hiding spot and sneaked into the living room, seeing that John was already asleep. Sherlock took the laptop away and adjusted a blanket over John's sleeping form before going back to his spot underneath the bed. He read the email over and over again but decided against answering it. He thought it would be better to talk about it later.

* * *

 

John woke up a few hours later (6 pm) with a splitting headache. He groaned as he opened his eyes and pulled his arm out of the covers to check what time it was. Now he wasn't going to be able to fall asleep tonight. Great. John pulled off the cover and peered around the room, his head throbbing. Yeah, he wasn't going to be able to function with this. He stumbled into the bathroom and rooted around the medicine cabinet for an alka-seltzer and then head to the kitchen to pour himself a drink. Now he remembered the second reason he tended not to drink: he got the worst hangovers. He popped the alka-seltzer into the glass and watched it fizz before downing it in two gulps. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, but merely succeeded in making the room tilt a bit. "Great." He groaned as he stepped back into the living room, waiting for the pain to abate. He stepped over to the bedroom, a vague memory of something do to with the bed sticking out. "Sherlock? You here?" He spoke softly, hoping Sherlock would do the same.

"Yes," a voice came from the other side of the room, a mere murmur. "Still under the bed." 

John stepped into the room, grateful that the light was off, and walked over to the bed, sitting down and leaning his back against the mattress. "So..." He sighed and threw his head back. "What are we going to do, Sherlock?"

"You remember then." Sherlock sighed again, taking a deep breath. "I don't know." His voice shook slightly, as if his very body refused to admit that he didn't know something. "I don't know what to do. Do you want to leave?"

John ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know either." He sighed. "I just want you to be happy." He shook his head as he thought for a bit. "But you... you _lied_  to me, Sherlock."

"I know that I lied to you. I thought it would be the best." Sherlock's voice was measured.

"You thought that lying to an amnesiac would be _good_?" John pushed away from the bed to peer down at Sherlock. "That's probably the worst thing you could have done! How am I supposed to trust you now?"

Sherlock stayed silent for a couple of minutes. "Why does it matter now, John? You were about to go. You were about to leave. I was afraid, I was scared, so I shut my mouth. I thought it would be the best, because I couldn't stand the expression when you'd get to know about all this. I thought it would keep you with me."

"And this is better, is it?" John huffed and rolled his eyes. "If you'd just have told me..." He paused. "It wouldn't have been good, but at least I wouldn't have to double-think everything you're saying now." He lay down on the floor next to the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"I didn't say that it's better. But I thought that... If I'd told you all that, I thought you had enough reasons to just go. It was my last straw to keep you with me. I didn't expect Lestrade to tell you. But now you know about it and I know that I messed up, so just... I'll pack my things and leave." He murmured, turning his head to look at John. 

John shook his head, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the headache slowly recede. "If anyone's going, it's me, Sherlock." He felt his chest constrict and reached up to play with the ring.

"No." He shook his head. "I can't stay here. If we break up, I'll leave. I will leave London and most probably the UK. I can't stay here." Sherlock shook his head again.

John frowned. "You have to promise me that you won't go back to drugs."

"You don't trust me, so why would you want me to promise?"

John looked over at Sherlock. "Because I _want_  to trust you." He sighed. "Why did this have to happen?" He paused. "I mean, why did I have to be an idiot and mention the suicide thing? If I hadn't, none of this would have happened... I wouldn't have mentioned the ward, you wouldn't have suggested it now, I wouldn't have gone to talk to Greg..." He groaned and rubbed his face roughly. "I just hate everything right now."

"Sometimes things like this happen. You can't do anything against it, they just...happen." Sherlock sighed and looked down. "Maybe... Maybe we need some time apart from each other. To get our heads clear. I have no idea what to do, what's the best at the moment."

"Maybe..." John fiddled with the ring some more. "I don't want to separate, I just..." He tilted his head slightly. "I just need time... and space."

Sherlock got out from underneath the bed and stood up, stretching his back with some groans of pain. "Of course. I'll pack my things and leave as soon as possible, don't worry."

John looked up at Sherlock and shook his head. "No... If we're going to separate, I need to check into a ward, Sherlock. You should stay here."

"You are not going to a ward, John. You are not. No. And I won't stay here." Sherlock got his suitcase out and started packing.

"Stop that." John stood up quickly and grabbed Sherlock's hands, stopping him from putting anything more into the suitcase. "I need to be in a ward, Sherlock... If you leave and I have another attack, who's going to save me?"

"No. I won't." Sherlock pulled out of John's grip. "You don't need to be in a ward. You have Mrs. Hudson here to watch out for you... And Lestrade will help you. Will save you. And Mycroft will definitely be keeping an eye on you."

"Stop it, Sherlock." John spoke firmly. "You're acting childish." He shook his head. "You need them too. You stay here where they can keep an eye on you and make sure you don't fall back on bad habits, and I go to a ward where they can keep an eye on me to make sure I don't kill myself."

"That's what I am, John. Childish." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and moved back, leaning against the wall. "I'll go to my parents. Stay there. They'll keep an eye on me, so you don't have to worry."

John sighed. "Either way that doesn't help _me_." He stepped back and sat down on Sherlock's bed. "Perhaps this is something we should sleep on?" He bit his lip. "Who's going where and all that?" 

"You have Lestrade. And Mrs. Hudson. And Mycroft. And God, if you want, you can go to a ward. Whatever you want." He shrugged and sighed. "I'm not tired. I've made my decision. I pack and go to my parents."

"Stop it Sherlock... Please." John breathed quietly. "I don't want you to move out. I don't want any of this. I just... I need time, and I..." He sighed as he watched Sherlock. "You know what? Fine." He stood up, holding his hands up resignedly. "You want to go to your parents? Fine. Go." He shook his head. "I'm not stopping you." He stormed out of the room, fuming. He grabbed his laptop and headed upstairs, not caring that he was making a fair amount of noise while climbing the stairs.

Sherlock followed John out of the room, but stayed downstairs, looking up after him. "I don't want to move out, I just... want to give you what you wanted. I'll come back as soon as want me to, as soon as you feel ready to trust me again."

"I don't want you to go!" John shouted down. "I want you to have your life!" He turned to look down the flight of stairs to Sherlock. " _I'm_  the one with the problem here, Sherlock, _I'm_  the one who needs to leave!"

"But I can't stay here without you. I can't stay here in this building in this flat... Not without you being close to me." He murmured.

John heard what Sherlock said quietly, but only just. "But I can't stay..." He said. "I _can't_! Not for a bit." He sighed. " I suppose that whenever we're both ready we'll let the other know?" He swallowed roughly. "I'm going to research wards now... I'm not staying here without you either."

Sherlock nodded stiffly and turned around, walking back into the flat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: ANGSTY ANGST ANGST


	10. Post Argument: John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John deals with the fight on his own while Sherlock packs.

John walked into his bedroom and sat down on his bed, his eyes stinging. He rubbed them roughly with his free hand and when he pulled it away from his face, his fingers were wet from tears. God, he hated this so much. He set down his laptop and threw himself back on the bed, rubbing his temples roughly, his breathing shallow because he was crying. After laying like that for a while, he sat up, breathing purposely through his nose to try and regulate his breathing. He checked his watch and saw that not much time had passed since he woke up, even though it had felt like a lifetime of arguing. It was definitely too early to go to sleep, especially seeing as he had just woken up from a nice 5 hour nap. He picked up his laptop and stepped over to the armchair that was sitting in the corner. It wasn't as comfy as his chair downstairs, but he wasn't heading down now... Not after what had just happened. He sat down and logged into his account and checked what he had been in middle of doing before he fell asleep. Wait... He furrowed his eyebrows. He had fallen asleep while holding the laptop, but woke up without it, and with a cover on. He smiled slightly. Sherlock must have come out from under the bed while he was asleep. He sighed. John hated what was going on. He hated how they were fighting. He hated how they were separating. But the fact of the matter was, Sherlock could come visit him. And this was only temporary. Until he got his mind sorted. Until he figured out what he was feeling. He read over the email he had sent Sherlock and groaned at the composition. "Note to self..." be muttered as he closed out of his email, "Don't write emails when drunk." John opened his document folder and found a folder titled "Journal". He opened it and found a whole bunch of documents merely titled "Journal" and a date. He supposed he should read some of them, but he wanted to write down what had transpired that day. He started a new document and started typing. 

_"Today was a bad day._  
 _Yesterday wasn't so bad though, so I suppose I ought to start there._  
 _I forgot yesterday. The first thing I remember is seeing Sherlock's body in the corner of my eye and picking up my phone to text Molly. I was so distracted that I didn't notice anything... Not even the fact that I wasn't texting Molly. Sherlock immediately came home from Bart's (he was researching) to explain everything to me. After that we had a tea... Not dinner though... I suppose we ate earlier. I wouldn't remember. Anyway, he told me I was seeing a doctor, and I realized that I was wearing a ring. Turns out we're engaged. (though at this point it's slightly questionable... If the person who proposed doesn't remember it, is it still a valid engagement?)_  
 _After taking off the ring because of discomfort, I headed to bed. In my own room. I know Sherlock was upset about it, but I can't help it. Sleeping with him at this point... It would just be weird._  
 _So that was yesterday. Today, however, was a different story. I woke up and found the pictures around the flat. We spoke while I ate breakfast, and Sherlock gave me his dog tags and a journal. God, the journal. I would want to use that now, except all of my other entries are on here. I think pen and paper journals are just how it should be. None of this digital nonsense for me. I guess in the next few days or weeks I'm going to have some free time to copy all of these journal entries over to the paper journal. Anyways he gave me those dogtags and I put my ring on there, and he did the same. We talked, and I... Sort of told him that I had attempted suicide twice before. I didn't tell him about the third fourth or fifth times, though. And it doesn't seem like Greg told him either. But anyway, I told him about the bit of time I spent in the ward after Harry told mum and dad about it... And he brought up the idea of my going to a ward now._  
 _That scared me a fair bit and we talked (and kissed). But the fact was that I decided I would probably be best off not being a stupid burden to him and checking into a ward so he could have a life. We fought a bit and I went out for drinks with Greg... Who told me that this had happened before. Sherlock and I had fought and I had left. I don't know what it was that brought me back (other than the fact that I love him like crazy). Greg also didn't know we were engaged, and he said that the last time we went our separate ways, Sherlock had turned to drugs. But that wasn't the worst of it, though. What I mind is the fact that Sherlock lied to me. He told me we were okay. He told me we were happy. In fact, he explicitly said that he hadn't left before. (okay, semantics here, I was apparently the one who left last time, but still...)_  
 _Anyway, right now, Sherlock is downstairs packing to go to his parents. And I'm sitting up here about to read through some journals to find out what really happened these last 6 months. After that, I suppose I will research facilities that are equipped to deal with anterograde amnesiacs who are suicidal according to what they do or don't remember._  
 _Yeah, this is the life._  
 _John"_


	11. Post Argument: Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock packs while John writes a Journal entry upstairs.

When Sherlock came into the bedroom, their bedroom, his own bedroom, he closed the door and nearly collapsed against the wood of it. He sank down and just let the tears come freely. He allowed himself to cry like this because he know he needed it. He knew that he destroyed their relationship by lying to John, but he didn't understand why John wasn't able to see it was just to prevent him from any pain. Sherlock took a deep breath, before standing up again, continuing to pack his things. He didn't actually notice what he was packing he just sort of threw some stuff into the suitcase. He didn't care. He just wanted to snap his fingers and heal John... Fix him... Make it so that that he would be able to go upstairs to sit down next to the other man and fall asleep together. "No," Sherlock murmured to himself. "Shut up." But the thoughts only continued to get louder, pressing in around him and telling him that John would never return. 

Sherlock moved over to the small table inside the bedroom and searched for pen and paper. When he found it, he started to write.

_"I didn't want to lie._   
_I didn't want to hurt you._   
_I didn't want to take drugs._   
_But when we were separated, I didn't know that you'd come back to me. Ever again. It felt like I broke you forever, that you were about to find someone better. I wanted to forget. I wanted to delete you from my mind palace, but...You were always there. Talking to me, even when it should have been impossible. Your voice was always ringing through my head. I wanted to mute you, forget you, delete you, but it wasn't possible. When I fell in love with you, you became write-protected. That was something I did when I moved "John" information to a bigger room. I promised myself that I'd never delete anything about you, because you showed me how good it is to have a flatmate, a friend and a lover._   
_But I destroyed it by trying to fix it._   
_I promise I won't do anything too harmful this time. My mother is like a hawk. That was how you described her the first time you met her, you know._   
_I'll go there like a child who misbehaved and I'll get scolded and she'll probably to send me back to London eventually, but I won't come back by my own volition. I will wait for you to allow me to come back. And if you forget me again and nobody will remind you that you have me, then I'll stay there._   
_Just please remember that I didn't mean any harm. You are the most valuable thing I ever had the fortunate to have in my life. And I would do anything to make you better..._   
_Yours, SH."_

  
Sherlock packed it into an envelope and closed his suitcase. He left the bedroom and looked around, trying to find the best place for the letter. Eventually, he placed it on John's armchair before taking his violin case from the floor near his own chair. He changed into his coat and put his scarf around his neck, checking to make the dog tags and the ring were still there even though there would be no reason for them not to be. He took a deep breath and then went down the stairs, leaving 221B for what felt like might be the last time. 


	12. John's Journals and Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more secrets come to light

John clicked save and ran his hands over his face as he reread the entry. Yeah, that was basically it. He didn't feel like it really encapsulated the feeling he had right then, but he didn't want to remember it if he'd forget. It wasn't a good feeling. He just felt betrayed. He sighed as he clicked out of it and looked at the long list of journal entries. There seemed to be a LOT. He checked and there seemed to be over 80 entries. Well.. Reading all of them was definitely out of the picture. He clicked on one at random ("Journal 10 July") and started reading.

  
 _"Nothing much happened today... Except for that weird guy who came in to the clinic. It's a bit hard to keep up with my files since I forget everything I don't write down, but Sarah is pretty helpful with all that. But yeah, the weird guy. He came in complaining of stomach pains, and said he had never been there before. I started prescribing him some pain medication (I figured it was an ulcer) and luckily enough Sarah walked in then. She said he had come in two weeks ago with the same ailment and I apparently told him that I forget things... He thought he would get some extra pills out of me._  
 _Well, that made me angry, obviously. I don't want to be able to be taken advantage of because of my condition. I don't want to be considered someone who needs help in order not to be gypped. I'm just mad right now._  
 _On to happy things, however. When I got home from work, Sherlock had dinner set up all romantic. He actually cooked for me. I think he was adorable about it. Apparently it wasn't the first time he cooked for me, but I still... It was the first time I was tasting his food, you know?_  
 _Anyway, it was delicious (albeit slightly overcooked, but I shan't tell him that), and after that we went out to a movie. (okay, I dragged him out, but that's besides the point.) The only movie he agreed to see was Mr Nobody, which was **really**  bizarre. Yeah, but basically he kept on shouting at the screen and getting everyone around us annoyed, so we had to leave early. But I don't think either of us really minded... It was  **really**  strange. _  
 _But yeah, I don't have to go in to work tomorrow (hence the late night), so we're probably going to sleep in and I'll go with him on a case or two._  
 _Right now he's sleeping next to me. It's amazing how he can sleep through the light from the laptop._  
 _Anyway, I'm going to head to bed._  
 _-John"_

 

John smiled softly and clicked on another entry (17 November).

 

_"Eleven days since I forgot now._  
 _I'm angry._  
 _There's so much I want to say, you know? But I'm just too angry to put into words._  
 _I don't know what I'm supposed to be feeling, I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. I only know what other people tell me._  
 _I hate this.  
_ _-John"_

 

John stared at the screen a bit. It was disconcerting to read his own writing without any memory of writing it. He scrolled back up to the beginning of the entry and squinted his eyes. "Eleven days since I forgot now." That would make it 6 November when he forgot that time. John bit his lip as he thought for a bit and stood up quickly, holding his laptop in one hand and grabbing a pen and paper with the other. He sat back down on the chair and scribbled out the numbers 1 through 7 - Sherlock had said that it was 6 times before this that he forgot, making yesterday number 7. He checked the date and wrote down "18 December" by 7 and jotted 6 November in the corner. He shut the journal entry and opened up the first one he had written, dated 20th June.

_"Anterograde Amnesia._  
 _Well, that's something I never thought would apply to me... But apparently that's what I have._  
 _Apparently I attempted to kill myself three days ago... On the anniversary of Sherlock's death. Well, guess what? Sherlock isn't dead. He came into the flat to find me passed out on the floor. I had taken sleeping pills and alcohol. I was not interested in living anymore without him. It was too hard. WAY too hard. Life was empty._  
 _But anyway, Sherlock came in and found me on the floor. He did CPR and called an ambulance. I woke up a bit in the hospital the next morning, apparently, and didn't really believe he was there... We had a bit of a revealing moment where I seem to have kissed him. I guess I was still a bit under the influence of the drugs I had taken because I was **really**  not in control... I wouldn't have kissed him normally... I was always too afraid of being shot town. But apparently I punched him and then kissed him. Turns out he likes me too! Who would have guessed? _  
 _The thing is, though... The next morning I woke up to find him in front of my bed (I remember this bit). I thought I had actually died, to be honest. I remembered wanting to kill myself, I remembered wanting to die, and I remembered looking for the sleeping pills. So when I woke up the next morning (18 June) to find him in the chair next to my bed, I was certain I was dead. I was so mad at him. He had died and left me all alone and I just... It was like I lost myself in my anger, honestly. I don't remember much of it, it was such a frenzy, but I definitely tackled him and punched him quite a few times. It was a bit before some nurses came and pulled me off him, and he ended up needing to be patched up a bit. (Lucky we were in a hospital, I guess.)_  
 _But anyway, now I'm home. Back in 221B. The doctors don't know when my next attack will be. There's a good chance that the forgetting the incidents of the day I attempted was only a result of the alcohol, but the doctors said that I had been too long without oxygen and there was actual brain damage, meaning it's likely to happen again._  
 _I don't even know what to do right now, honestly. I'm just writing this down so I don't forget it._  
 _I'm obviously not working right now, I had quite my job at the clinic last month because it was just too hard to get out of the house to see anyone. We'll see about getting back to work soon._  
 _But now I'm... I'm happy. Sherlock is back, and we're trying this out. We've started dating, I guess. Lord, it's so strange to think about. I quite like him, and I'm just... I'm trying to understand how he could possibly like me back._  
 _I'm going to end this here. I'll try to write some more a bit later._  
 _-John"_

John swallowed roughly as he finished reading the entry and quickly jotted down "16 June - Attempted suicide" on top of the list of numbers, and added "18 June - forgot in the morning. - 1 day" by the 1. He sighed as he closed out of the journal and skimmed through a few others, trying to find references to when he forgot. He opened up the entry from 30 June:

_"Forgot again, apparently._  
 _Sherlock says I have amnesia of sorts. I forgot yesterday. I woke up in the morning to find that we were sharing a bed and I thought I went mad. Apparently we're together now? I don't even know. It's so strange._  
 _It seems I tried to commit suicide on the anniversary of Sherlock's death and it left my brain without oxygen for a bit, making the storage of new memories a bit jumbled._  
 _The point is... well... We sort of... slept together for the first time last night._  
 _"Waking up with no memory of that is a bit of a- Well, it's different._  
 _Obviously Sherlock skulked around the flat the whole day yesterday because I forgot it. Apparently I said that it was amazing... And then I forgot it._  
 _Lord, I'm such an idiot._  
 _I hate that I don't remember anything that Sherlock told me._  
 _I hate that I don't remember sleeping with him._  
 _I hate all of this._  
 _-John"_

  
John bit his lip as he smiled and wrote down "29th June" near the 2, quickly doing a bit of calculations and writing "11 days" near it. He skimmed through some more journals, smiling every once in a while and getting choked up at some things. He noted down a few dates on the list. So far it was looking a bit confusing to him. Sherlock had said that he forgot 6 times... But the dates weren't making sense.

_"16th June - attempted suicide_  
 _1\. 18 June - forgot in the morning. - 1 day_  
 _2\. 29 June - - 11 days_  
 _3\. 13 July - - 14 days_  
 _4\. 30th July - in the clinic - Sarah found out - 17 days_  
 _5._  
 _6._  
 _7\. 18th December"_

It didn't make sense. If it was six weeks since the last time he forgot, as Sherlock and Greg said, the 6th time he forgot would be... 6 November. He smiled as he noticed that he wrote it down in the corner, and added it to 6. But now... There was a space of four months between 4 and 6... which REALLY didn't make sense. John frowned as he quickly poked through some more journals, trying to figure out the anomaly, frantically jotting things down. After around 20 minutes, he sat back. He hadn't forgotten 6 times... He had forgotten 10 times. This was the 10th time he had forgotten.  
He glanced down at his paper:

_"16th June - attempted suicide_  
 _1\. 18 June - forgot in the morning. - 1 day_  
 _2\. 29 June - - 11 days_  
 _3\. 13 July - - 14 days_  
 _4\. 30th July - in the clinic - Sarah found out - 17 days_  
 _5\. 20 August - 21 days_  
 _6\. 5 Sept - - 15 days - shorter??_  
 _7\. 25 Sept - - 20 days_  
 _8\. 13 Oct - - 18 days_  
 _9\. 6 Nov- - 24 days_  
 _10\. 18th December"_

John snapped his laptop shut, his lips pursed. He threw his laptop on the bed and took a few deep breaths. Sherlock had lied. Again. He had said 6 times. He had said they were happy. John didn't even know what to think at that point. He was just fuming. He felt like if he were to go downstairs, he wouldn't be able to control himself and would probably physically assault Sherlock. John clenched his fists angrily as he stood in the center of his room for a few minutes, thinking. After a short while, he shook his head and yanked his door open. He didn't care what he was going to do to Sherlock now. If he knocked him out, honestly, he deserved it. He stormed downstairs. "Sherlock!" He called as he slammed the door to the flat behind himself, "You  _really_  need to-" He pushed the door to Sherlock's room open and saw that it was empty. Sherlock had gone. John cursed under his breath as he stepped back into the sitting room and paced around a bit. It was then that he noticed the envelope on his chair. He quickly picked it up and ripped it open, sitting down slowly as he read. He didn't know what he wanted at this point, honestly. He just knew that he couldn't look at Sherlock. He couldn't bear it. He didn't want to  _never_  see him again, but now, with everything coming to light... He definitely couldn't fight to keep him around. When he got up to the point where Sherlock said that if he forgot he wouldn't come back, he felt a flare of indignation. John didn't care. He didn't care if Sherlock never came back. He honestly didn't care. Except he did, obviously. He hated that Sherlock lied to him because he loved him. He scrunched the letter up and stood up and walked back to his bedroom. For most of the next 2 hours, John researched nearby medical facilities and settled on one that sounded good. The next morning he was going to pack up his things and commit himself. He wrote down the address and shut his laptop. After giving his room a once over, he changed into pajamas and head to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've actually wrote up a calender (finally) of what happened when, though there are some more things on it than what has been revealed in the story at this point. 
> 
> Would you guys like me to post a calender of what's been shown so far? (it would take editing on my part, but I could see if I could do it)... Then maybe I'd post it periodically with updates of what has happened (and been revealed) since. 
> 
> Also, as of yet I don't know /how/ to post it. I have it saved as a PDF, but I don't know exactly how to share it. 
> 
> I had, up until now, a word document with the significant dates, but that ended up with me confusing myself and accidentally overlapping something. So I made it into an actual calender. 
> 
> Anyway, yeah.
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying!


	13. Sherlock Returns Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is picked up by Mycroft and brought home to Mummy.

When Sherlock got down the stairs, he hesitated and looked at Mrs. Hudson's door, but he remembered that she wasn't at Baker Street but visiting her sister. So it wouldn't make any sense to go in and explain himself, she would have to deal with his departure. Sherlock stepped out of the building, closed the front door behind him and took a deep breath. It felt strange. Just like two years ago, when he knew that he was leaving Baker Street. But back then he was sure that there was a chance of coming back, but right now, he wasn't so sure about himself allowed to come back at all. Sherlock had a really strange feeling inside his gut... That this was his last goodbye to Baker Street.

Sherlock groaned when he noticed the black car pulling up the curb. He pressed his hand to his eyes and stepped forward, waiting for the tinted window to roll down. "Bugger off, Mycroft. I'm not interes-"

"Brother dear, I know that you fully intend to go up to the country to our parents. Do you wish to simply walk there? Or perhaps you intend to grow wings?" Mycroft opened the door and Sherlock sighed, having no real strength to fight with his brother at the moment. He got into the car, but sat down as far as possible from Mycroft and stared out of the window. "You shouldn't have lied to him, Sherlock. You should have be honest to him. I've talked with Gregory. I hope that John will get back to you." Sherlock had his eyes pressed shut again, trying to block the voice of his brother out.

When they reached their parent's home, Sherlock practically jumped out of the car. He bolted inside of his childhood home and up to his old room.

His mother was standing in the doorway and furrowed her eyebrows. "What's wrong with him, Mikey?" She asked as Mycroft stepped closer.

"Domestic with John." He simply explained and added a stressed "It's Mycroft."

Victoria shook her head at her older son and head upstairs after Sherlock. She knocked softly and opened his old bedroom door to find Sherlock laying facedown on his bed. "Oh, Sherl." She tutted, walking over to him and sitting on his bed's edge. "Whatever happened between you and John, I am sure it'll get right again. Just believe me." Sherlock huffed out a laugh and murmured into the pillow. Victoria Holmes wasn't really able to understand the full sentence, but she heard enough to make at least a bit sense out of it. "He loves you. He will allow you to come back to him. Just give him time."

Sherlock huffed out a response, not turning his head to look at his mother, who continued to sit there. She sat close to him and moved her hand up to Sherlock's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Everyone has a domestic once in their lifetime. And everyone lives apart from the ones their love, Sherlock. It's normal to feel pain and it's normal that you don't have any hope at the moment, but I know you and John and I know that you two will get back together." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a paragraph because it would be weird anywhere else... ehehehe


	14. Checking In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John leaves Baker Street and checks into the ward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS
> 
> I added a paragraph to the last chapter, so yeah.

John woke up the next morning at 6:30 feeling depressed, but he didn't know why.

He stared up in the ceiling and slowly the events of the previous night filtered into his consciousness and he groaned. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair and looked around his room. He slid out of bed and headed for the shower, the whole time the thought "He lied to you he lied to you he lied to you" playing over and over in his head.

Once he got dressed, he started looking around for a suitcase to pack his things in, which took longer than he expected, since he didn't remember where anything was kept. In the end he found a small carry-on sized rolling suitcase in the flat and carried it upstairs to start packing.

There was an empty feeling in his chest the whole time, and he kept wondering if it was better or worse than when Sherlock was dead - He paused in middle of folding a shirt and crooked his head - Sherlock... was dead. He bit his lip as he quickly put the shirt in the suitcase and felt for the dogtags around his neck, his breath short. Once he felt the metal, he breathed a sigh of relief. Sherlock wasn't still dead. He hadn't imagined the last two days.

He played around with the dogtags absently as he went downstairs to make himself a quick breakfast and while he was doing that he realized that he hadn't gone to his therapist the day before. He pulled out his phone to look for her number but stopped as he saw the screen. It was a picture of him and Sherlock on a bridge somewhere, taken by Sherlock as he held the camera up so that you could see the water behind them.

He snapped his phone shut and slid it across the counter away from him. That was really _not_  what he had wanted to see. Not at all. He was still trying to figure out a word to explain how he felt towards Sherlock at this point. Angry was way to rational and understated. Upset? Yeah right. Furious was getting closer, fuming as well.

He poked at his egg with his fork as he bit his lip to stop crying. Why was he crying? It wasn't like anything specific right then triggered this... except the picture. And betrayal. He cursed and emptied the rest of his egg into the garbage bin and washed his plate quickly, leaving it on the drying rack along with his fork and knife and the pan.

He glanced at his phone on the counter before he shook his head and left the flat to finish packing. He didn't need that. He really didn't need it.

Only a few hours later, John left 221B with the rolling suitcase and his laptop in a bag. He had knocked on Mrs Hudson's door to say goodbye for nearly 10 minutes before he gave up. He supposed she was out or something. He ended up writing a small note to her and tacking it to the door:

  
_"Dearest Mrs. Hudson,_   
_Sherlock and I have had a falling out. He's gone to his parents, and I'm checking myself into a facility so I don't hurt myself. Please keep an eye on him for me._   
_Thank you,_   
_John."_

He held himself back from writing exactly which facility it was. He had left the address on the table in the kitchen next to his phone, along with a note to Sherlock:

_"Sherlock,_   
_Apparently you lied even **more**. _   
_Apparently you just can't stop lying to me._   
_I can't bear to keep the phone because I don't know how to change the background, and I can't deal with having it stare at me like that all the time._   
_I'm leaving you the address to the facility I'm checking in to. Please call before you visit. I would like to be able to mentally prepare myself._   
_Just stay safe. And if you dare go back to drugs again... I **will**  kill you._   
_Sincerely,_   
_John Watson"_

  
He couldn't help but sign it so formally. He half wanted to just sign it "Watson" and be done with it, but he kept in his first name. Before leaving, he called the clinic to quit. Thankfully he got the message machine and he didn't have to try and explain himself to Sarah or any of his other co-workers.

It took him a short while to find a cab, but when he got one, John read out the address and the cabbie turned around with a strange expression on his face. "You realize that's going to cost you a fortune, right?" John nodded and sighed, saying that he had enough money to pay for it and just wanted a comfortable ride. So John ended up sitting in the back of a cab for two hours as he drove out of London and through some of the countryside.

It was past three by the time they pulled up and John slid out of the cab. He pulled out his wallet and counted out the bills to the cabbie, apologizing for taking him so far out. The man just shook his head as he drove off, muttering under his breath.   
John gazed up at the building and took a deep breath before stepping in resolutely. They were a little surprised to find a random man walking in to the facility, but he slid them a paper with Dr. Morstans' number and information, explaining the situation. It took a while, but eventually they gave in. A session with a random psychiatrist later, John was shown to a room.

Apparently meals were communal and mandatory, as well as therapy sessions. There was also a weekly visiting hour if he...? John shook his head resolutely. "I'm not going to be getting any visitors." He said flatly. "Not for a while, at least." As soon as he unpacked, they called him out for dinner and he got to meet some of his fellow patients.   
There was Zoe, a woman who was schizophrenic and was forcefully committed by her family because she refused to take her medication.

There was Franklin, a young man who was suicidal as well.

Cecil was introduced to him by Franklin. Apparently Cecil was selectively mute. He was the only one at the table John was sitting at with bandages around his arms from attempting to kill himself. 

Meredith explained to John that _typically_  she was fine, but every once in a while she zoned out and did things she didn't mean to, more than often hurting herself, so she needed to be watched.

And then there was Pete. Pete was shy and just watched John for most of the meal. After they all returned their trays to the kitchen, he pulled John aside. "Is it true you're Anterograde too?"

"Yeah," John said softly. "I am..." He swallowed. "You are as well, I take it?"

"Yeah..." Pete stepped back from John slightly and held out his hand. "Pete Kent." He smiled. "I've been anterograde for almost 12 years, I think."

John shook his hand and his mouth dropped open. "So you're-"

"-Much younger than I look." Pete laughed. "Nothing anyone says can convince me I'm a day over 20." He shrugged and started walking along the hallway. "I got mugged... You?"

John swallowed. "Attempted suicide."

"Man, that must _suck_!"

John smiled at the obvious juvinility to the other man's manner of speech. "Yeah, it does." He sighed and tucked his hands into his pockets. "Every time I forget I get suicidal again..." He paused. "Well, actually..." He looked down at the floor as they passed an orderly. "I don't think it sounds so bad at the moment, which is scaring me a bit."

"Nah, man, that's cool... That's why you're here, you know?" Pete stopped walking and motioned to the door behind himself. "This is me."

John smiled and said goodnight, glad to have someone in a similar situation as himself to talk to. He walked around the hallways a bit on his own before finding his way back to his own room. Before heading to sleep, he added a journal entry for the day:

_"Journal December 20"_   
_I checked into a ward today. It's very different than the one Mum and Dad made me go to as a kid. Less grim orderlies, more friendly patients, I guess. But then again, I'm less suicidal this time around, and older too._   
_I left a note for Mrs Hudson and my phone and a letter for Sherlock. I kept the dogtags though, and the ring._   
_-John"_

John didn't feel like adding in a bit about the other patients. He shut his laptop and changed into his pajamas. He'd just expound on them when he found out more about them. It was 11 PM when John drifted to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! *waves*
> 
> I got a job and oh my god is my life BUSY.
> 
> Sorry this is so delayed!


	16. TEMPORARY CHAPTER TO BE DELETED OR AT LEAST COMPLETELY REWRITTEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update?!?!?!?!

Okay, so this isn't an udate per se, as there is no STORY update, but this is an update on the progress. Basically, my life was crazy and idek... But I didn't wind up killing myself. *shrugs*

Basically I just wanted to tell you guys that I will TRY to update again soon (try be the operative word)

I can't make any promises, but I REALLY hope to get back to this, as my RPs have picked up again and I seem to have gotten back my writing muse.

Sorry for the extended absence. :/


End file.
